


Every Little Secret

by scottmcniceass



Category: One Direction
Genre: Boarding School AU, Excessive Swearing, M/M, graphic descriptions of wounds, mentions of Josh Devine/Niall Horan, mentions of child abuse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2013-06-05
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:54:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830825
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scottmcniceass/pseuds/scottmcniceass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>It’s always Liam, isn’t it? Since he met the damn guy, he’s crawled under Zayn’s skin like he was made to fit there and the only way to get him out would cause Zayn serious harm.</em>
</p>
<p>(Or the one where all the boys are in boarding school except Liam, Zayn sort of hates the world, and he wants nothing more than to save Liam from it.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Every Little Secret

**Author's Note:**

> Okay so the summary for this fic sucks because it was so hard for me to summarize. ALSO title from the song What If I Told You by Jason Walker which i seriously suggest listening to because it sums up a lot of liam's character in this fic. 
> 
> Also there is a lot of mentions/talking about child abuse in this fic which may be triggering for some, so proceed with caution. (and a special thanks to the lovely
> 
>  
> 
> [Sanya](http://stitchedwrists.tumblr.com/)
> 
>  
> 
> who beta'd about 3/4ths of this fic and is the only reason i didn't scrap it halfway through. <3)

 

 

         In the neighbourhood he grew up in, the type with too-big houses and perfectly manicured lawns and shiny cars, almost everyone attends boarding school. In the few days before the new semester starts after summer, nearly everyone between the ages of twelve and eighteen spends a few hours packing away clothes and personal belongings, and Zayn is not the exception, though he is the anomaly.

See, Zayn is allotted only one bag, and within it he packs more books than clothes. At the academy, he already has a wardrobe filled with perfectly pressed pants and impeccably ironed shirts and sweaters and ties hanging up, all in his size, waiting for him. The sweaters will be made of the same scratchy material as last year. The dress pants will be just as restricting and unflattering. The long sleeved shirt will no doubt be too hot to stand during the next few months, when the temperatures are still sweltering. He's sure that other schools are strict about their uniforms, too, but he doubts any are quite like the ones at McKinnon Disciplinary Academy (which still has the stupidest name Zayn's ever heard, and he's always quick to tell everyone so).

That aside, he stopped complaining about the school last year when he realized that maybe, just maybe, McKinnon is exactly where he wants to be. Couldn't ever let his parents know that, though, or they'd surely ship him off somewhere else. So it's with a scowl on his face and his hands clenched into fists that he carries his single bag down the stairs and out to his father's car (something new, expensive, and the best around currently).

"I spoke to your headmaster today," his father says as the car comes to life. Of course, it doesn't rumble or anything. The engine is quiet and the car runs smoothly, because Yasser Malik, CEO, as it says on his business cards, only drives the  _best around_.

"I'm sure that was riveting," Zayn says, smiling tightly. "So what did Burns say?"

"Don't call him that," his mother scolds. Zayn rolls his eyes. "And Mr.  _Cartwright_ —," Sure, that's his  _actual_  name, but no one calls him as such because his resemblance to the Simpsons' character is uncanny. "—said that you'll be getting a new roommate this year. Isn't that nice, dear? Hopefully this one will be a better influence on you than the last."

"Oh, but I  _liked_  Jason," Zayn says, mouth open wide in mock-shock. "Except for, you know, the time that psycho fucker tried to strangle me in my sleep."

" _Language,_ " his mother says shrilly.

"Sorry," Zayn apologizes automatically. You don't spend four years at McKinnon without learning that apologizing politely is always the smartest thing to do in most situations.

Still, his parents don't attempt to converse with him for the rest of the hour long drive. Zayn doesn't mind all that much. He loves his parents, he does, even if he resents them more than a little for sending him to McKinnon. They're just different people, that's all. His parents care about appearing to be the perfect, pristine family. They care what the neighbours think, what their coworkers think. Zayn, on the other hand, couldn't give less of a shit, and he lets everyone know that.

There's this restless, jumpy feeling in him as they near the academy. As the trees around them start to get thicker, and the tall buildings of the city slip away. McKinnon isn't exactly in the middle of nowhere, but it's not in any town, either. The nearest is, in fact, a fifteen minute ride, or a forty minute (if you know the right shortcuts) walk, away from civilization. The academy claims this makes it easier to keep the boys in line. Zayn thinks it's because no one wanted them in town.

See, McKinnon has a reputation. Sure, part of that reputation is that it's known for taking in the most lost, undisciplined young boys from the around the country (the ones that are on the 'wrong track' and 'going nowhere in life— except possibly jail') and turning them around. It's the best school for doing that, apparently, highly recommended by parents all over the country, but at the same time, the students that attend the school are known to be a little… unhinged before the school has managed to turn them into respectable citizens.

That restlessness gets worse as they pull onto the long, unpaved road leading the academy. It's not a bad feeling, though. It's not one of foreboding, or dread. No, it's one of anticipation. It has his palms sweating and his lips tilting up without his consent as he stares out the window.

The first part of the Academy they see is the giant, ugly fountain out front. It's one of those fountains that you throw coins into and make a wish on, and the statue that juts out of the middle of it is gigantic and perfectly resembles Jeremy McKinnon, the founder of the school, standing atop a dead deer. He still doesn't get it, but he loves the hideous thing anyways. And it's always easy to scoop a few quid out of the fountain when he's short for cigarettes.

The next is the sprawling lawn. Behind the school, out of sight, is the football field and the track. The lawn out front is better kept, and it's perfectly green, sprinklers set to go off every twelve hours to keep it that way. They're not allowed on that lawn. That lawn is for the parents, to make the academy seem like a welcoming, prestigious school, which it is  _definitely_  not.

Finally there's the actual academy.

McKinnon Disciplinary Academy looks exactly how you'd expect an academy to look. There are only two buildings. There's the main building, walls made of brick, covered in ivory, with a plethora of windows, some open, some closed. It almost looks like someone's home (someone with a shitload of money, anyways), or so Zayn's always thought. There's a set of double doors that lead inside, with thick, trimmed bushes on either side to make it seem more homey. There's a garden out front, all bright colours and flowers that thrive because those kids that take the gardening elective are worked  _hard_. There's four stories, the top of which is the dorms. It's impossibly wide, and that's just from the front view. The building is actually shaped almost like a C because of the two wings they'd added on about twenty years ago.

Around back, there's the gymnasium. It's in a separate building for many reasons, though if you asked, any of the staff would claim it's because they wanted more space and they didn't want to add another wing to the main building. The actual reason is because they had trouble keeping students from breaking in after curfew, and the new gym building has such high security that there is no possible way to get inside or out of it between the hours of 8pm and 7am. Not that they haven't tried, but so far no one has managed.

His parents pull off into the visitors lot, where there's already hordes of cars and other students and parents milling about. Unlike them, Zayn's parents don't park. The car idles, they turn in their seats, and Zayn grabs his bag.

"See you at Christmas," he grumbles while pushing open his door.

"Hopefully with a better attitude," his mother replies. She opens her door and gets out, too. "Come, now, Zayn. Give your mother a hug before you leave." He stiffly steps towards her and stands there as she hugs him. " _People are watching. Don_ _'_ _t make me look bad_."

"Wouldn't dream of it," he mutters, wrapping his arms around her.

His father waves from the car when his mum gets back in, and that's it. They're pulling away, leaving him there in the gravelled lot, bag hanging from his slumped shoulders. He tries to look as dejected as possible, even kicks up a few rocks and pouts until they're gone. When he can no longer see the car in the distance, he hikes his bag higher up on his shoulder and smirks.

Let the year begin, he thinks.

He passes a few familiar faces on the way towards the main building, some clinging to their parents having tearful goodbyes, others glaring and pitching a fit about being left here for another year. There's some newcomers, though. Kids that look apprehensive and nervous. That stare up at the huge building in front of them and clutch their mother's hands tightly and give both of their parents betrayed looked, like they can't believe they're actually forcing them to attend this place. Zayn remembers his own first year, remembers what it was like to be new here. He feels for them, he does, but it'll get better.

As soon as he pushes inside the front doors, he's stopped by two large members of the staff. This is normal protocol, and Zayn doesn't even bat an eyelash as they search his bags and then pat him down to make sure that he's not smuggling in a gun or drugs or anything like that.

"Cellphone," one of them says, holding out their hand.

"Don't got one, mate," Zayn replies. He stretches out his arms when he gets a dubious look, and adds, "Do you want to check me again? I don't have one. My parents confiscated it this summer."

"Alright," the one who patted him down says. "You're cleared."

The other one checks over a clipboard. "Malik, Zayn. Room 28." He pauses, eyebrows raising. "Congratulations. You've got a new roommate."

Zayn gives him a flat smile. "Yay me."

"Now go on." He's gently shoved forward. "Don't hold up the line."

Zayn rolls his eyes and grabs his bags. Later, when everything's settled and they're no longer checking bags at the door, Zayn will sneak back outside and retrieve his cellphone from where he hid it in the bushes, along with a pack of cigarettes and his lighter. He's not stupid enough to actually carry a cellphone into this place in the first day, but the guy behind him (must be new, Zayn thinks) is. He watches as the boy gapes at his cellphone disappearing into one of the man's pants, and then he starts freaking out, going on about his parents will be hearing of this, and they  _better_  give him his cellphone back right that instant.

That's a lost cause. It won't take long for this guy to realize it, either, but Zayn doesn't say anything to him about. No one was there to hold Zayn's hand, and he's not going to be doing it for anyone else. In this place, you learn to take care of yourself, and if you  _can't_ , you might want to sleep with an eye open.

He makes his way down the front hall, past the doors to the cafeteria and the office and the staircase that leads up the second floor. He keeps going, past the downstairs bathroom, past the door that leads to the staff's living quarters until he's at the end of the hall. The stairs back here are rickety and old, and the banister groans under his hands when he uses it to help pull himself up the stairs. There's a window set into the wall of the second landing, but Zayn doesn't pause to look up. He does readjust the strap of his bag, though, because it's sliding down his shoulder and making it seem heavier than it really is.

At the top, he smiles at the sounds sneaking under the cracks in the door. He stops, checks his hair, straightens his shirt, adopts a haughty, superior look, and then pushes open the door and struts into the hall.

There's something about the first day. The entire dorm hall is pure chaos. Every door is pushed wide open; there's bags scattered about the hallway; people are greeting each other after a long holiday apart, some friendly, some… not so friendly (Zayn avoids a scuffle where one guy has another in a headlock, and he can't tell whether it's playful or an actual fight); everyone is either unpacking or making it difficult for others to unpack. People grin at him on his way past, some try to get his attention and engage him in conversation. Zayn keeps walking, chin tilted high, eyes narrowed slightly.

There's only three closed doors in the whole dorm, one of which has a large number 28 on the front. Zayn stops in front of it and drops his bags to the floor. He debates just walking in and asserting his dominance, but he's really not an asshole, and he doesn't want to come off as one. At the same time, he doesn't want to walk in there and have this guy assume he's a pushover. First impressions in this place are key.

In the end he knocks while twisting the doorknob. The door sticks a bit, and all it takes is one step and the humid, stale air has him wrinkling his nose.

There's a boy inside, one with a shock of blonde hair (died, Zayn guesses — no, he knows) and pale skin and snapback on his head. He's dressed in loose jeans, a baggy sweatshirt, and a pair of converse. Zayn's lips curl instantly. Oh no, he is so not sharing a room with this frat-boy wannabe who's probably here because he got wasted too many times and threw up in his mother's begonias.

"Hey," the guy says, dropping the shirt in his hand onto the bed. He extends that hand to Zayn and says, "I'm Niall. I got here about half an hour ago, and I figured we just pick our own bed, so I took the left one. Hope that's not an issue."

Zayn ignores the outstretched hand, opting to pick up his bag instead. "I'm Zayn," he says. "And it's not a big deal. Both sides of the room are identical; I checked last year."

It's true. The rooms aren't very big. There's a bed against each wall with a window and two side tables between them. There's a shelf on the wall of each bed, one for books or knicknacks and the like, as well as a small desk at the end of the beds, and then a dresser on each side of the door. The only difference is that the left side of the room has the light switch and the right side has an extra electrical outlet.

There's an awkward silence for a bit as Zayn unpacks his bags and Niall goes back to doing the same. There's the slamming of drawers, soft mutters to themselves, and then Niall's done and he flops onto his bed. He reaches under the mattress, digging around, and he produces something that he holds tightly in his fist.

"Do you mind?" he asks as he twists the tip of the joint. He brings it to his lips, lifts his lighter and arches an eyebrow.

Zayn kicks shut the bottom drawer of his dresser and crosses his arms over his chest. "I won't if you share."

Niall smirks around the butt of the joint and leans forward to crack open the window. "You," he says after bringing the flame of the lighter to the tip and inhaling, "I like already."

The feeling may just be mutual, Zayn thinks when Niall exhales and passes him the joint.

Last year, Zayn roomed with this guy, Jason. He seemed pretty cool at first. He kept to himself, didn't really talk to many people, and the only annoying thing he did was snore. Until one night Zayn was laying in bed, headphones on, humming along to the music as Jason slept. The next thing he knows, the guy's hands are wrapped around his throat. Turns out, Jason didn't like it when people interrupted his sleep. If Niall is as laid back as he seems, this year may turn out a lot better.

As thick, fragrant smoke fills the air, Zayn decides that the thing Zayn likes about Niall is that he isn't a talker. He's not a boaster, either. Most guys who come into this place like to assert their dominance immediately. They like to go around telling everyone exactly why they're here, no doubt exaggerating their story to look cool. Niall, on the other hand, doesn't mention it at all as they smoke the joint, leaning out their window. He does ask what it's like, and Zayn gives vague, noncommittal answers. When they're done, he flicks the joint away, where it falls into the grass below, and tugs off his snapback to run a hand through his hair before placing it on his head again.

"Can I be honest?" he asks as he falls back onto his bed.

Zayn mimics the action, a pleasant grin on his face. He loves the way he feels after smoking a joint. The way he gets all weightless and unconnected, like he's still a part of the world, just a bigger, less distinguishable part. Like he's the air and the bed he's laying on and the wood paneling of the floor and the sunlight filtering in through the open window. He giggles softly to himself and turns to Niall.

"I don't know, can you?" he asks.

Niall flips him off. "Seriously, I thought you'd be sort of psycho. I was expecting to hate you, actually."

Zayn looks up a the ceiling, contemplating those words. "I sort of am psycho," he admits. "Everyone here is, though. You've got to be to make it in this place."

Niall makes a face at that. "It can't be all that bad."

"You say that  _now_ ," Zayn chuckles. "This is just the first day. Just you wait. By the end of the week, you'll change your mind." He pauses, rubbing a hand over his stomach, fingertips plucking at the material of his t-shirt. It's so  _hot_  in his room, and the weed makes him feel like he's simmering on a low flame. "It's really not all that bad, though," he admits. "I like it here, anyways. I fit here, you know?"

"Not yet," Niall says. "But hopefully I will soon enough."

Zayn grins at him for a moment, weirdly comfortable in this guy's presence already, which shouldn't be the case. Zayn doesn't get close to people. He doesn't  _like_  people. There are a few exceptions to this rule, but it had taken him months to warm up to them. He's known Niall for less than an hour.

Before Zayn or Niall can speak again, a soft bell chimes. Niall bolts upright, eyes wide. "Did you hear that?" he asks. "Or am I just tripping the fuck out?"

Laughing, Zayn shakes his head. "No. No, that was the dinner bell. It goes off every day at this time. You've got an hour and a half to get dinner and eat it. After that, the cafeteria doors shut and you're stuck waiting until the next day to eat."

"What about late night snacks?" Niall demands. "I can't live off three meals a day. I need snacks."

Zayn shrugs. "You learn to live with it, or you sneak stuff into your room. Jackson in room 13 somehow gets a minifridge in here every year. He'll let you keep stuff in it, for a fee."

Niall groans. "That's bullshit."

"Welcome to life at McKinnon," Zayn says. He bares his teeth in what could be considered a smile, if you squinted. "Bullshit is the norm, my friend."

This time, Niall doesn't reply.

—

The first dinner of the school year is always hectic. There's no semblance of order. There's staff members situated at each door, ready to interfere if someone starts a fight, but they're left to their devices.

On bad days, Zayn refers to McKinnon as a prison. On good days, he likes to think of it as a zoo for the unwanted animals of the world. Today is a good day, and he thinks that's a pretty accurate description of the room he walks into with Niall right behind him.

The cafeteria is fairly large and spacious. Instead of normal tables, the kind you'd find in the cafeterias at his old school, there's picnic tables set up through the room, each topped with a tacky floral-print table cloth. Each picnic table seats six, but some only have two people sat at them, and some have ten, all crammed in, sides pressed together. At the end of the room, against the wall with the high windows that reveal the fact that it's started to rain outside, there's the food station. There's two women behind it who scoop food onto plates, but it's not the disgusting fair that you'd expect from that kind of set-up. The food at McKinnon is always great, and if you know how to sweet-talk the lunch ladies, you can get seconds on dessert.

"Stop smiling," Zayn hisses under his breath as they walk into the room.

Niall does as he's told, schooling his face into an expression of indifference. If he keeps it up, Niall will get on here just fine. Not that Zayn will keep babysitting him like this; it's just that he knows what the guys around here are like, and if Niall walks into the cafeteria smiling like he's happy to be here and excited to make friends, they'll eat him alive.

"This smells great," Niall says as one of the cafeteria ladies slips a few pieces of pot roast onto his plate.

"Thank you," the woman says with a smile.

"Thank  _you_ ," Niall says back. "Ma'am."

Needless to say, Niall walks away with an extra helping of food, and Zayn realizes that maybe Niall doesn't need his help as much as he thought.

Balancing a plate and a bottle of water in his hand, Zayn takes a look around. A few people look back at him, but Zayn looks quickly past their faces until he finally lands on the only one in the room he was looking for. "Come on," he says to Niall, making a beeline for the table at the other end of the room, in the corner farthest from the doors.

"Who's this?" Louis demands after Zayn sits down beside him, and Niall sits across from them, right beside Josh.

"'m Niall," Niall says, extending his hand.

"What the fuck is with the handshake?" Louis asks, wrinkling his nose. "Is this the 1800s? Was I teleported back in time? Please tell me I didn't. I can't live without the internet."

"Niall, this is Louis," Zayn says, ignoring his best friend's annoying — though occasionally amusing— comments. "The one beside you is Josh. Guys, this is Niall, my new roommate."

"Hey," Josh says, the first one of their group to accept Niall's outstretched hand. "Nice to meet you."

"How much do I have to pay you to get you to say ' _They_ _'_ _re after me lucky charms_?'" Louis asks.

Niall's lips turn down as he gives Louis a considering look, nodding his head slowly. "Yeah, go fuck yourself," he says calmly before forking up a bite of mashed potatoes.

Josh laughs at this, but Zayn moves a bit away from Louis, not quite sure how he'll respond to that. Louis is a loose cannon. He loves the guy, he really does, but you can never predict how he's going to respond to something.

Thankfully, all Louis says is, "Tried that. Was rather difficult."

Zayn starts eating, but Louis' shoulder bumps into his, almost making him stab himself in the face with his fork. He puts it down and glowers at Louis until arms are wrapped tightly around him, and the smell of heavy cologne fills his senses.

"How was your summer?" Louis asks him. "I missed the fuck out of you, you little shit."

Louis Tomlinson is, hands down, Zayn's favourite person in the entire world. He has no idea when that happened, and if he could go back in time, he would stop himself for accepting Louis' invitation to have lunch together, because Louis is nothing but trouble. He's also the only person that can make Zayn laugh (except Josh  _sometimes_ , but that's rare), the only person that knows Zayn likes to sing and needs a cigarette after every meal and that he's really not as tough as he likes to make everyone think, and the only person that Zayn can spend extended periods of time with without wanting to tug out his own hair or stab someone. He also swears so often that he should really be censored, but Zayn likes that.

"It was fine," Zayn says with a shrug. In all honesty, it was boring as hell and he'd been dying to get back here, but you don't really admit those things at McKinnon. Not when there are people that would do anything to  _not_  be here around. "Yours?"

Louis shrugs, too, while nonchalantly shrugging out of his sweater. He's wearing a tank-top underneath it, one that leaves his arms bare and his collarbone exposed. There's so much fresh ink that Zayn has no idea where to look; his arms, his chest, his wrists? Last year, Louis was all brightly coloured jeans and tight shirts, perfectly swept hair and a cleanly shaven jaw. Now, his hair is hidden underneath a beanie, there's almost as much scruff on his jaw as Zayn's, and he's gotten at  _least_  five new tattoos.

That's not even the best part. A clicking sound is the first sign, and then he's zeroing in on the small ball pressed up against Louis' teeth before Louis smirks and sticks out his tongue. "Yeah, I got it pierced," he says. "Hurt like a bitch and I couldn't eat anything but liquids for weeks, but I like it."

"Damn," Zayn breathes. He leans back, taking in Louis once more. "What the hell happened to you?"

"I'm having an existential crisis," Louis admits. "I'm  _finding myself_. Or that's what my therapist says, anyways. I don't know. I just like the tattoos, not shaving, and sweatpants are seriously fucking comfortable, guys. Like, what was I doing wearing jeans for years? My testicles have never been this free."

"Are you wearing boxers?" Josh asks, tilting his head to the side a bit.

"Nope. Totally free ballin'," Louis says happily.

Zayn groans and pushes his plate of food away. "There goes my appetite."

"Oh, come on," Louis says. He waggles his eyebrows suggestively. "You would. You know it."

"Maybe if the lights were off," Zayn teases. "And there was a pillow over your face to shut you up for once."

Louis opens his mouth to reply to that, but his words die in his throat and he twists in his seat, mouth hanging open.

There's a commotion on the other side of the room, and someone shouts, "You little shit, you did that on purpose!" and then a response of, "Fucking prove it, you pussy."

Zayn looks up just in time to watch someone dump an entire plate of food on someone else's head. One of their teachers moves in fast, though, grabbing one of them by the arms and tugging him backwards before a fight can break out. Someone else grabs the other, and then they're removed from the room. Everyone resumes eating as if nothing happened because, really, nothing had. That is just the norm around here.

That's not even what Louis' gaping at. Just like Zayn, he keeps his head held high, and he makes a point of taking long, confident strides across the room. People chatter, some call out to him, but the guy doesn't acknowledge any of them, nor will he until he takes his place at the table on the other side of the room.

"Still gorgeous," Louis sighs. "The things I'd do to that curly haired bastard…"

"Who's that?" Niall asks.

"Harry Styles," Zayn and Josh both say, at the same time.

"And he's off limits, in case you're wondering," Louis hisses. "I've had my name on that one since my first year here, so don't get any ideas."

"Does  _he_ know that?" Josh asks. "Because I'm fairly sure he has no idea who you are."

" _Everyone_  knows who I am," Louis retorts.

Niall coughs, pulling everyone's attention to him. He flushes a bit and stutters out, "So you're, uh, into dudes, then?"

Collectively, the three of them sit up a little straighter. It's not that homophobia is a real problem here. It's not, but there are a few guys who will give you shit for it, not that Louis hasn't already put them all in their places.

"Haven't you heard?" Zayn says. "McKinnon Academy for Homoerotic Sexual Deviancies. Gotta be gay to get accepted here, mate."

Niall snorts at that. "I was just asking."

"In all seriousness," Louis says loudly, "every other person at this table has had a dick in their mouths at some point, so if that's going to be a problem…." He trails off, a challenging look on his face.

Sometimes, people assume Louis' weak because he's not all that big, and he can seem like a really laid back, funny guy. Those people are strongly mistaken, and Zayn seriously pities the ones who try to fuck with Louis because of that grievous, misguided opinion. Louis is fucking terrifying, when he wants to be.

"Not a problem," Niall assures them. "Really. I mean, I'd prefer to be on the receiving end of the dick sucking, but to each his own."

Zayn lets out a laugh at that, and Josh flushes red, as he always does when this sort of thing is brought up. Louis just nods his acceptance to this and moves on.

"So why are you here, anyways?" Josh asks Niall, changing the subject, which he's sure they're all painfully aware of.

"Selling weed," Niall answers. "My mum was pretty pissed when she found out, and my dad thought I needed rehab or some shit, but they compromised and sent me here instead." He pauses, looking at them each in turn. "What about you guys?"

"I stabbed a guy," Louis says, deadpan.

Niall gapes at him.

"He burnt down his parent's beach house," Zayn corrects before Niall gets up and runs away from them. "By accident, technically."

"I like fire," Louis says brightly.

"And Josh here's a klepto, which is why he gets his own room. One instance of grand theft auto and his parents sent him away."

Josh smiles sheepishly. "Maybe I wouldn't steal things if people didn't make things so easy to steal. Who the hell leaves the keys to a Porsche in the glove compartment?"

"And Zayn's here because he like to punch people," Louis explains. "A lot of people. And people quite enjoy punching his pretty face, as well."

Zayn lifts a shoulder in a shrug. It's technically the truth, not that he actually  _likes_  fighting. He just doesn't like  _people_ , and people tend to not like him, and somehow that always ends with someone getting hit. Usually not him. That's not the  _only_  reason he's here, though, because usually the punches aren't thrown until alcohol's been tossed into the mix, and two instances of getting dropped off in a cop car with a busted lip and slurred words was enough for his parents to deem him 'out of control'.

Honestly, Zayn's not out of control. The way he sees it, everyone has a quota of bullshit they can handle in life, and Zayn's sort of ran out a bit early, that's all. Some people will walk away when a guy says a few offensive things to them, Zayn doesn't. Some will ignore when a person sneers at them from across the bar, Zayn doesn't. Some people will walk away from a fight, and Zayn  _definitely_  doesn't. In fact, he throws himself into them, seemingly at any chance he gets. Okay, so maybe he does enjoy fighting, just a bit. Only when the other person seriously deserves it.

"I'll remember not to piss you off, then," Niall says after a moment, grinning at Zayn.

"I seriously suggest you do not," Louis says solemnly.

The rest of dinner is pretty calm, considering. There's a bit of ruckus on the other side of the room, but their table is relatively normal. Just like that, it's as if Niall's been there forever. That's just how it is with them. Josh is the type who likes everyone, and Louis is the type who either hates you instantly or becomes your best friend in five minutes. There is no in between. Zayn, on the other hand, is a little harder to win over, which is why their group has always consisted of just the three off them, but he likes Niall, weirdly enough.

When they're done eating, the four of them make their way upstairs, back to their rooms. Josh is four doors down, in the room right next to the communal bathrooms (possibly the worst thing about this place, hands down), and Louis is at the other end of the hall with the same roommate he's had for the past two years.

Niall falls into bed instantly, a hand on his stomach. Zayn does the same, digging into the bag he'd stashed under the bed to get his iPod. Phones aren't allowed at school, but they allow iPods, as long as they're not the kind that you can hook up to the internet. They're really strict about that. No laptops, no cellphones. If you want to communicate with the outside world, you use the old school phone booth in the lobby, or the line in the office. There's a computer room that's used for classes during school hours, and there's a sign-up sheet on the door if you need to use the internet for research or anything school related. If they find you on a social networking site, though, there's consequences. McKinnon is known for their ability to make you regret any rule breaking to assure that you don't do it again.

He lays in his bed like that for a long time. There's an irritating itch under his skin, but he can ignore it for now. He closes his eyes and lets the music take him away, still riding on the affects of the weed that are nearly completely warn off.

All lights have to be out by ten. A staff member comes and checks each room to make sure they're asleep. On the weekends, curfew is pushed to eleven, but you're up at six in the morning on weekdays, so it's not like you really want to be awake any later than ten anyways.

Niall is asleep by eleven. Zayn stays in bed until exactly 12:07am. He's been here long enough that he's memorized the staff's schedule. Tonight Jesse is taking first shift, and Mark will take second. They'll patrol the halls all night to assure that people aren't getting out of bed for anything, except to go the bathroom. But he knows Mark, knows that Mark always takes a cigarette break at 12:05 and he won't be up the stairs until around quarter after. That gives him about a five minute timeframe to do what he needs to.

With one quick look at Niall (he's pretty sure that Niall wouldn't rat him out, but he can't be sure, and he really doesn't want to risk it), he slips on his shoes, grabs a sweater out of his dresser and then carefully opens his door so it doesn't make too much noise. He holds his breath, listens, and then slips out of the room.

He doesn't take the back stairs, as everyone normally does. Instead he takes the staff stairwell. There's a staff member at the bottom of  _their_  stairs, because they don't believe that any of the students would have the audacity (or stupidity, maybe) to take  _their_  stairs. It's definitely not the smartest idea, and it'd get someone caught normally, but Zayn's got this down to a perfect science. He even knows to skip the third step from the bottom because it squeaks, and if you turn the handle to the left instead of the right, it doesn't make as much noise.

Five minutes later, he's breathing in fresh air and looking up at the stars that are bright and huge in a way that you only get when you're far from city. He takes a left, heading around the side of the building, and he spends a bit of time digging around, searching for his stuff. Just when he's about to give up and look for them in the morning, when the sun is out to help him, his fingers brush against cool plastic. He grins, scooping up his phone and locating his smokes and lighter, and then he backtracks, heading for his bench.

There are benches scattered about the grounds for them to sit on during lunch and after school hours. There's picnic tables, too, farther out in the fields, and a set of bleachers. His bench is closest to the doors by the path to the gym. There's a tree just behind it that keeps it shaded during the day, and it stops the bench from getting wet on days that it rains.

Tugging off his sweater, he bunches it up and places it at the head of the bench, and then he lays down and stretches out. It's better like this, when he looks up and finds stars hanging in the sky, shining through the leaves of the tree instead of the plain white ceiling above his bed. He takes a drag off his cigarette, blows the smoke out carefully in perfect little 'o's and closes his eyes.

When he's done, he puts the cigarette out, hides the butt in the bushes so no one will know where his secret smoking spot is, and then he folds his hands over his stomach and drifts off to sleep, out on the grounds where he likes it. In the morning, he'll wake up to the morning bell that sounds through the whole building, loud and impossible to ignore, and then he'll sneak back inside just in time to make it look like he hadn't gone anywhere.

—

As he opens the door to his bedroom the next morning, he tugs the two pieces of paper taped to it down and carries them into the room with him. Niall is sitting up in his bed, hair spiked up in every direction, eyes wide and out of focus. There's a red crease on his cheek from his pillow, and he looks about six years old like that.

"What fucking time is it?" he asks.

"Six," Zayn answers. He hands Niall one of the papers. "Your timetable."

Niall ignores the paper, letting it fall to his lap as he gapes at Zayn. "Six?" he asks. "As in, six in the fucking  _morning_?"

"Yep."

"What the  _fuck_?"

"Get used to it," Zayn tells him. He pulls open his wardrobe and grabs his clothes for the day, bending down to pull open the drawer at the bottom so he can get a pair of socks and boxers. "If you want a shower, you might want to hurry up. Communal bathrooms suck, and there won't be any hot water in about an hour."

"I don't care," Niall says flatly. He runs a hand through his hair and then promptly falls face first into his pillow. "Wake me up when you get back," he adds, voice muffled.

Honestly, Niall's taking it pretty well. He remembers his own first morning here. He'd thrown the lamp on the bedside table across the room and threatened to kill anyone who woke him up again. That hadn't been smart, because it wasn't like they just allowed him to sleep in after that hissy fit. No, one of the staff members came in and dragged him out of bed with the promise that, if they had to do it again, they'd be returning with a bucket of ice water. Not an empty threat, either, because he's actually seen them go through with it on more than one occasion, but he was never stupid enough to warrant that himself.

After his shower, he takes an extra fifteen minutes in the bathroom to fix his hair and his outfit. While he's not exactly jumping for joy over the requirement of a uniform, at least it's not horrible. The school colours are navy and red. The sweatshirt is black with a small red and blue crest, and it's got a low v-neck. He wears a white collared shirt under it, and it takes him three tries to get the tie on right, but he looks good when he's done. The school boy look works for him, fortunately. Unlike Louis, who looks about twelve with the uniform on.

Niall is still facedown and snoring when he comes back from the bathroom. He considers just leaving Niall to it. It's not his fucking job to take care of new students and make sure they get to breakfast before class. It is his first day, though, so Zayn will help him out this one time, but if he expects Zayn to do this every day, he's going to be disappointed.

"You've got twenty minutes to get ready and down to breakfast," Zayn says while pushing on Niall's shoulder. "Come on, get up."

Groaning, Niall slowly rolls over. "Fucking unnatural, getting up at this hour," he spits. "This is torture, is what it is."

"Get used to it," Zayn says yet again. "I'm only waiting fifteen minutes and then I'm going down without you."

"Alright, alright." Niall sits up and rubs at his eyes. His eyebrows raise when he takes in Zayn's outfit, and he lets out a low whistle. "Hope it looks as good on me as it does on you."

Zayn smirks. "Don't count on it."

He's fairly impressed by how quickly Niall gets ready. He jumps out of bed and gets down to the bathroom and back in about five minutes, and then he get changed right there in the room, dropping his sopping towel to the floor in abandon. He's kind of cute, Zayn admits to himself. The whole pale and thin thing doesn't really do it for him, though.

It's funny, watching Niall try to get his tie on. He makes six different attempts and then throws the thing to the ground, stomps on it, and says, "Let's go."

"You're going to get in shit for that," Zayn informs him on the way out the door. "Mark my words."

Niall shrugs. "I don't give a fuck."

Yeah, Zayn really likes this guy.

—

He and Niall go separate ways after breakfast. He has his first class with Josh, at least, so Zayn doesn't have to worry about him getting lost. Sadly, Zayn doesn't have a first class with anyone. Their electives are first period, which means that Louis is off to the other side of the building for gym, Niall and Josh are just down the hall in the music room, and he's in the art room.

One thing that can be said about McKinnon is that it really does favour arts and athleticism. He's pretty sure this has something to do with the fact that all of these things are good for taking out anger and aggression. When he's mad, nothing calms him down like putting in headphones, lighting up a cigarette, and putting a pen to paper to write or draw or even just scribble until the page rips. Louis has a football under his bed, and when he's in a particularly shit mood, he sneaks out with it and takes shots at the net until he's calmed down. Unfortunately, his art class is only one period long, and then he's off to math, which is decidedly less enjoyable.

He settles into the desk at the back of the room, right in the corner. If he asks Jake, in front of him, to move over a bit, he might even be able to take a nap without his teacher seeing.

Zayn's staring out the window, not really paying attention to what his teacher is saying, when Harry walks in, fifteen minutes late, uniform askew, headphones in his ears.

"Styles," his teacher says. "Headphone off. You know the drill."

Harry pulls out the earbuds and frowns at him. "Huh?"

"Are we really going to do this every year?" their teacher sighs. "Take off the headphones and put them in your pocket, or I'll take them off for you and keep them until Friday."

"Sorry," Harry says automatically. He wraps the headphones around a small iPod and shoves them in his pocket before giving their teacher a blinding grin. "There you go."

"Just go sit down."

He does, right next to Zayn. He's kind of a weird kid, Harry. He doesn't really talk to many people, and no one has any idea why he's even here. If you look at the kid, he doesn't fit in. There's nothing outright hostile or  _bad_  about him. Except for wearing his headphones obsessively, Zayn's never seen him get in trouble. Not  _once_ , which is quite a feat.

"Hey," Zayn tries when Harry settles in beside him.

Harry turns, large brown eyes blinking open and closed slowly. "Hi," he says, dragging out the 'i'.

"How was your summer?"

Harry looks around for a moment, though Zayn has no idea what he's looking for. "Are you talking to me?" he finally asks, pointing at his chest for emphasis.

"Um." See? Weird kid. "Yeah?"

"Oh." Harry grins, bright and cheerful. "Cool." He pulls his headphone out of his pocket and fiddles with his iPod until he finds whatever he's looking for. He shoves a headphone in Zayn's direction while sticking the other in his ear, and then he says, "Put it in. This song is awesome."

"Um," Zayn says again. What the fuck?

Harry gives him an encouraging look. Zayn hesitantly put the headphone in his ear, eyebrows scrunched together. Suddenly a song blares through the little headphone, and Zayn jumps, eyes widening. Harry just grins, like he was expecting that reaction.

For some reason, he keeps the headphone in through the whole song. It's a good song, too. Something he doesn't recognize, but the guitar is great, and there's a drum solo that's sort of amazing, and the lead singer has that kind of rough, husky voice that gives the whole thing an indie feel.

"So?" Harry asks when it's over. He tugs the headphone out of Zayn's ear and wraps them back around the iPod. "What do you think?"

_That you're fucking crazy_. "That was, uh, cool. Good song. Nice sound."

Harry nods, still grinning manically. "Okay," he says. "You pass."

"I pass?" Zayn asks.

"Yep." Harry lifts his shoulders in a shrug. "I don't associate with people that don't appreciate good music. I'm sure you understand."

No, Zayn really doesn't. This is the guy Louis Tomlinson is in love with? Seriously? Has he ever even spoken to Harry? "Anyways," Zayn says, because no one can ever claim that he's a bad friend, "I was just wondering if you were planning on going on Friday's day trip."

Since the school is so far from town, the staff sets up a day trip once a week. Tuesday is for first years, Wednesday is for second and so on. A bus will show up on each of those days at three, and it drives everyone back at seven. If you're not on that bus by seven, you probably don't want to ever come back. Zayn's not exactly sure what happens when kids sneak off like that, and he doesn't really want to know.

"I wasn't, actually," Harry says regretfully. "My meeting with the counsellor is on Friday."

It's a requirement of attending the school, meeting the one of the counsellor's twice a month. It's not pleasant, not for most people, and Zayn does everything he can to get out of it, but it's non-negotiable. They spend an hour talking about  _why_  Zayn gets angry.  _Why_  Zayn hates people.  _Why_  he has such a bleak out-look on the world, despite the fact that he's had a pretty charmed life, up until this point. It's the only thing he hasn't made any progress in since he's been at McKinnon, because Zayn keeps insisting that he honestly doesn't  _know_. That's just how he is.

"That sucks," Zayn says sympathetically.

"It does?" Harry asks. "I don't mind, honestly. I love talking with Bonnie. She's brilliant, and we're really working on my issues, you know?"

Zayn takes deep breaths. He's going to have a nice, long conversation with Louis about his ability to pick literally the  _worst_  guys. Either they're assholes, or they're insane. "What about next week?" he asks anyways.

"I'm free next week," Harry says brightly. "Why? Do you want to hang out?"

No. "Yeah. With a few friends of mine, if you're in."

"Sounds nuclear," Harry says.

"It— what?" Zayn is completely lost. This whole conversation has just thrown him off.

"Nuclear," Harry repeats patiently. "It's like awesome and brilliant and exciting, all rolled into one. Like —  _ace_ , but not. Nuclear. It's my thing."

"That's— really nuclear, Harry," Zayn says warily.

All he gets for that is a smile that could melt ice, it's so sunny, and then Harry's turning back to the front of the room, suddenly engrossed in whatever their teacher is saying. Zayn is still trying to work out what the fuck just happened.

—

At dinner that night, Louis is in a pissy mood. This is to be expected. Louis hates school. Not their school specifically, just all schools in general. He hates getting up early. He hates being cooped up in a classroom. He hates, and that's probably why he and Zayn get along so well. Mutual hatred for everything is really good for bonding two people.

Niall and Josh aren't there yet, but Zayn had spoken to Niall at lunch, and he told Zayn that Josh had offered to give him a tour of the whole school. Zayn thinks that's a good idea, and if he were a more helpful person, he would have done it himself. Except he's not, so he didn't.

"I talked to Harry today," Zayn says as Louis pushes around the broccoli on his plate, a grimace on his face.

For the first time since Zayn sat down next to him, Louis looks up sharply. " _Why_?" he demands. " _Why the fuck would you do that_?"

"Uh, because you've been in love with him for years?" Zayn replies. "I thought I was doing you a favour."

"Oh my  _god_ ," Louis groans. "You can't just  _talk_  to him."

"Why not?"

"Because!" Louis slaps his arm, hard, and Zayn rubs the spot with a pout on his face. "Fuck, I've been working on this for years, and you've just totally fucked the whole thing up."

"You've been stalking him from afar for years," Zayn corrects. "You've never actually spoken to him, and I'm pretty sure you won't ever grow the balls to do so, either."

"I know that," Louis admits. "But, see, I've had this plan that, if I make myself desirable and available, Harry will eventually realize on his own that we are soul mates and then he'd ask me out and we'd fuck in the field under the stars while listening to that iPod that he's always got on him."

"Wow," Zayn says. "You two are perfect for each other. You're both fucking crazy."

Louis glares at him for a long time, and they don't talk at all until Josh and Niall show up, Niall gushing on about how cool the gym is, and how he's looking forward to trying out for the lacrosse team, and some other stuff that Zayn doesn't give a shit about. He's too busy sulking and eating.

They don't fight, Zayn and Louis. Not often, at least. Zayn's not stupid enough to get on Louis' bad side (he knows what Louis' capable of, and he sort of  _likes_  having all of his limbs intact), and Louis isn't stupid enough to get on his. That, and they're like two halves to one whole, him and Louis. Bickering with each other is like bickering with themselves. It's plain to see that Louis' upset with him, though. It's obvious in the set to his shoulders, in the way he's stabbing at the chicken on his plate a bit too harshly, and Zayn doesn't know what to say to make it better.

"What's wrong?" Josh asks immediately. "What happened? Louis—,"

"Ask  _Zayn_ ," Louis snaps at him.

Zayn sighs and makes a face at Louis before turning to Josh. "I talked to Harry today and invited him to hang out with us on next week's day trip, and apparently I ruined Louis' life by doing so."

Josh gapes at him. "Didn't you know about the plan?" he asks. "The soul mates and fucking on the field plan?"

"See?!" Louis says, pointing his fork in Josh's direction. " _Josh_  knows.  _Josh_  is a good friend.  _Josh_  didn't fucking ruin everything."

"For one," Zayn says loudly, more than a little done with this whole thing, "that plan was fucking stupid. And for another, you should be  _thanking_  me. I've made more progress on this in ten minutes than you have in three years."

Louis sneers at him for a long time, and Zayn scowls right back. He loves Louis, he does, but fuck if he'll sit there and let Louis be an asshole to him when he didn't do anything wrong. Louis must get that he's being unreasonable, too, because soon enough his features soften, and then he lets out a loud sigh and rests his head on Zayn's shoulder.

"What did he say?" Louis asks quietly. "Did you mention me?"

"No," Zayn answers. "I just thought that  _maybe_  if you two actually spoke and hung out, he'd return your feelings. I wasn't trying to screw anything up. I thought I was helping."

"I know," Louis admits. "I love you for it. I'm sorry. I just— I don't know what it is about this guy. He just  _does it for me_ , you know? Like that old fucker from the Avengers movie that could totally be your dad but you want to fuck him anyways. What's his name? Jeremy— whatever? The bird one?"

A reluctant smile tugs at Zayn's lips. "Hawkeye. And his name is Jeremy Renner; he's not  _that_  old."

"Yeah, him," Louis says. "I just want Harry to like me, alright? And I know I act all 'I'm better and hotter than everyone' all the time, but — maybe I don't actually believe that, okay? Maybe he  _won't_  like me, and that fucking sucks, and I'd rather just like him from afar and fantasize about him blowing me in English instead of actually trying anything."

Zayn absently runs his hands through Louis' hair. "I don't think you have anything to worry about. Harry's pretty unhinged. I think you two would be a match made in heaven, actually."

Before Louis can respond to this, Niall speaks up. "What's a day trip?" he asks, looking around at the three of them in confusion.

"Day trips," Josh says, talking in that lecturer voice that he sometimes adopts, "are trips, supervised by the school, into town that each class is allowed to go on once a week. We get a few hours to catch a movie, or get something to eat, or do some shopping."

"Cool. When is it?" Niall asks.

"Friday," Louis answers.

"And we just wander off by ourselves, or does someone have to come with us? Like a teacher or something."

"They trust us to come back," Zayn tells him.

"And what happens if we don't?" Niall asks.

The table goes silent for a moment. Louis stands up and calls out someone's name before waving them over. The boy that approaches their table is one Zayn recognizes from some of his glasses. He's got short hair, dark skin, and mischievous brown eyes. Also, Zayn is like 200% sure that Josh lost his virginity to this guy last year, which would explain the flush in Josh's cheeks, and the fact that he's staring down at his food and not eating.

"Macon," Louis says pleasantly. "Our new friend Niall here wants to know what happens if you don't get back on the bus after a day trip."

Macon's eyes go wide, and he shakes his head, looking worlds away. "Don't do it, mate," he says softly. "Not worth it."

"What did they do to you, exactly?" Zayn wonders, more than a little fascinated.

"You don't want to know," Macon says darkly. "And I'm pretty sure it was illegal." He gives Louis a questioning look. "Can I go now?"

Louis waves him off and Macon disappears with one lingering look for Josh that the other boy doesn't return. "Well that sounded mildly horrific," Louis says after a moment.

There's a weak chuckle from Niall and Josh, but Zayn is still curious. He's gotten in a lot of trouble over the years at McKinnon, but nothing major. He got caught sneaking onto the grounds late at night once, and he was stuck on kitchen duty for a month (which consisted mostly of him scrubbing disgusting, slimy pots), and then there was the time he was caught smoking in his room and he'd been forced to weed the entire garden, which had taken two whole days out in the blistering sun. That's just typical stuff, though. Everyone's had to do it at one point. Whatever they did to Macon for missing the bus back to school, it must have been a lot worse than that.

—

Things settle a bit by Friday. Everyone's calmed down and gotten back into the school schedule (though Niall still refuses to get out of bed before seven, and he only does so when Zayn pulls his blankets off him and threatens to stab him in his sleep), and all of his classmates are excited for the day trip. Zayn's not excited, but he's not  _not_  excited. Day trips are just one of those things that lost their lustre after the first year. Sure, it's still nice to get out of the academy, but he's not  _dying_  to get out the way he was years ago. Now it's just another thing that's become routine about this place, like early mornings and scheduled meals and signing up to use computer lab.

School ends for the day, and everyone in Zayn's classes files outside, where one of their teachers, Mr. Valcourt, takes names and waves them onto the bus. Since almost everyone on the bus has done this many times before, there's not much chatting going on. Everyone knows to be quiet and on their best behaviour, or their bus driver will turn around and bring them all back to the academy. It's something that's happened a few times since Zayn's been there, and you do  _not_  want to be the reason someone's day trip was cancelled. The whole dorm will shun you.

Louis is sat beside him, headphones in his ears, eyes closed. He always manages to fall asleep on the short ride into town, and today is no exception. Louis is a firm believer in after-class naps, and if he misses one, he tends to get a little moody.

Kentville isn't exactly a big city, but it's not a small town, either. The bus always drops them off at the mall on the far side of town. Most of the kids will stay there, since there's a cinema just next door, a food court, and pretty much anything a teenager could need. Unless you're Louis and Zayn.

"Where to?" Josh asks after they climb off the bus.

Zayn pulls out his pack — it's nearly gone, he's going to have to pick one up today— and tugs out a cigarette as they start walking away from the mall. He lowers his eyelids as he breathes out, pretending that the sky is a nice, sunny blue, and he's just any normal kid getting out of school a little late, off to drop his bags off at home before maybe hanging out with his friends, or maybe just going upstairs to fall into his bed and listen to music and read or something. Except the sky is grey, home is over an hour away, and he doesn't really have friends back there anyways.

"Let's get something to eat," Louis suggests.

"I second that one," Niall puts in. "Zayn?"

Zayn lifts a shoulder and takes another drag. He forgot to charge his iPod, and he hates being out without it.

They do end up getting an early dinner. They're walking aimlessly down the main street, no real destination, when Louis stops abruptly and pulls open the door to a burger shop. He doesn't ask them if that's where they want to eat, but none of them protest as they all pile inside.

It's a little busy. It must be the dinner rush, because nearly every table is full. It smells great inside, so good that Zayn inhales deeply and grins at Louis. "I love this place," he says.

Louis ruffles his hair while searching for a table. "I know you do."

"Oh, look," says a familiar female voice. "Evil takes a physical form."

"Who's that?" Niall asks him. His eyes slide slowly down Cher's body, and Zayn's not surprised at all. He sees the appeal, he does, and he can't say he hasn't thought about it himself, but Cher scares him more than she attracts him.

" _Cher_ ," Louis says cheerfully. "Get us a table."

Cher makes a face at him and punches Louis' shoulder, but she leads them on through the restaurant, closer to the back. The booth has a rip in it, and the table's been cleaned sloppily, streaks easily visible, and everyone is talking  _so_  loudly. Zayn absolutely adores it. It reminds him of home — not  _home_  home, but the academy, where eating any meal in silence is impossible—, only the food is even better, and it's nice to see fresh faces, even if Cher spends more time glaring at them than anything else.

As they're settling in, someone calls Cher's name. She gives them a regretful look and says, "Sorry, I've got tables. Liam'll come serve you." She goes to walk away, but she backtracks quickly and gives them each a warning look. "You be nice to him, you hear me?"

"We're always nice," Louis argues. He looks serious, too, for a few seconds. And then he cracks, a strangled chuckle coming out of his mouth.

"Whatever. Just go easy on him," Cher orders before hurrying off.

Zayn's got Niall beside him, and he's on the outside seat. Louis is across from him, with Josh across from Niall. Zayn pulls his eyes away from his friends and surveys the room, waiting for a menu, not that he doesn't already know everything they serve here. Two minutes later and he's not the only one that's getting impatient. Niall is jiggling his leg, Louis is drumming his fingers on the table and looking around with a glare, and even Josh is giving every waiter that walks past them an expectant look.

Finally someone stops at their table. His cheeks are flushed, his eyes are wide, and he's clutching four menus to his chest. "Sorry." His nametag reads  _ **Thomas**_  but he says, "I'm Liam. I'll be your server today."

Liam carefully distributes the menus, but that flush and panicked look is still in place. Zayn meets Louis' eyes, and both of them raise their eyebrows, silently communicating. Louis smirks, Zayn coughs and blinks down at his menu, and Louis starts laughing. Niall is looking at them like he doesn't get it, but Josh is so used to it that he doesn't even react.

"I'll give you time to look those over," Liam says. "I'll be right back."

He turns and nearly collides with Cher, who steps out of his way at the last second, avoiding the spillage of an entire tray of food. "Watch yourself, Payne," she hisses before moving on.

"S-sorry," Liam stutters. If this kid blushes any harder, Zayn's pretty sure he's going to go into cardiac arrest.

"That is what I call a hot mess," Louis mutters under his breath. "Or a moderately attractive mess with nice shoulders, anyways."

Zayn frowns and turns to watch Liam, who's now busy with another table. This time, he takes in more than the fact that the guy is a blushing, fumbling train wreck. And Louis was right the first time, he thinks, though the shoulders thing was spot on, definitely. The guy is hot, in an awkward 'I have no idea I'm attractive' way that has Zayn grinning, tongue pushed against his teeth. (He won't admit it, but maybe he has a thing for brown eyes, okay? And those lips are pink and soft looking, and the uniform he's wearing isn't flattering, but his arm have enough definition that Zayn's willing to bet the rest of him does, too.)

And then Liam turns and meets his eyes for a moment, a befuddled look in them until they widen suddenly and he's weaving through the tables and stopping in front of Zayn, more than a little breathless. "Oh, God," he groans, eyes squeezing close. "I forgot to ask you if you guys wanted a drink to start off with." He looks so horrified by this that Zayn almost feels bad for him. Except, you know, he doesn't really feel bad for anyone, ever. "It's my first day. I'm still training, technically."

"We really couldn't tell," Louis says. Liam looks like he can't quite work out if that was sincere or not.

"Anyways," he says while pulling a notepad out of his back pocket, along with a pen, "drinks, anyone?"

Afterwards, Liam rushes off to get them their drinks, and Louis snickers behind his hand. A foot nudges Zayn's ankle under the table, and Louis gives him a look that promises bad (possibly illegal, wouldn't be the first time) things, the ball of his tongue piercing against the front of his teeth.

"What?" Zayn asks.

Louis smirks. "I'll give you twenty quid if you flirt with that guy until he either gets a boner or starts crying."

In the distance, Liam is filling cups with their drinks, but he's having trouble working the drink fountain. Finally he gets the knob working, and Pepsi starts streaming from the nozzle, but he can't stop it. He looks around, panicked, until Cher rolls her eyes and helps him get it off. He quickly thanks her, stumbling over his words, red as a tomato.

"Guys," Josh says, a warning tilt to his tone. "Come on. That's mean."

"Yes, but it's for the sake of entertainment," Louis reminds him. "What do you say, Zayn?"

Josh glares at them both, and he tries to get Niall on his side, but Niall raises his hands defensively, as if to say he's having no part in this. Over the years, Josh has gotten used to this, though, and in the end he sighs in resignation.

It's not that he and Louis like fucking with people. It's just that Louis gets bored, and Zayn gets bored, and maybe they're both sort of assholes, when they want to be.

When Liam comes back with their drinks, Zayn sits up a little straighter, chin tilted a bit. Liam places a cup in front of everyone, but Zayn reaches out to grab his before it can reach the table, fingers brushing Liam's for a second. Liam doesn't react.

"Do you need more time with the menu?" he asks. "I can come back, or—?"

"No, we're good," Zayn says, though he's not actually sure if that's true. Still, he flips his own menu closed and hands it to Liam, who's got his notepad out again.

"Alrighty," he says, and seriously? Alrighty? "What would you like?"

Zayn pretends to contemplate this for a moment, bottom lip caught between his teeth. "I'd like," he decides slowly, "to know what you sound like in bed, with my head between your thighs."

It takes a moment for those words to sink in for Liam, but when they do his lips part in surprise and he makes a choked sound. "I— um— something from— um—." He cuts himself off with a shake of his head and clears his throat. "Something from the menu, please," he says tightly.

Zayn feigns a look of surprise. "You mean you're  _not_  on the menu? Because you look like you taste—,"

"Anyone else?" Liam asks shrilly. There's an almost pleading look on his face as he addresses the table, like he's begging one of them to save him from Zayn's advances.

Louis is too busy suppressing giggles to answer, Josh is still looking over the menu, but Niall says, "Bacon cheeseburger with onion rings."

"Thank you," Liam breathes. "I mean, um, right. Sure." He quickly scribbles that down on his pad, and then he finally takes Josh and Louis' orders before trying with Zayn again. "Are you read to order something off the menu now, or should I come again when you've had more time to decide?"

Zayn licks his lips. "I could order now, but I'd still like you to come again. And again. And—,"

A hand slaps the back of his head. "Honestly, Zayn," Cher scolds. "One, don't be an asshole. Two, don't be a fucking asshole. Three, do lines like that actually get you laid? Four, leave my coworkers alone, you prick. Five—," she waggles all five fingers on her left hand and slaps him on the back of the head again. "Now order something or get out."

"I'll get the chicken burger, without the bacon," Zayn says as after sticking his tongue out at her. "With chips."

Liam writes this down and gives Cher a grateful look before walking away. She follows him after another stern look for Zayn, and then Louis is finally releasing the loud laugh that's he's been trying to hold in for the last five minutes. He pulls a bill out of his pocket and hands it to Zayn after wiping at his eyes. "Here," he says, voice shaky with more laughter still. "You earned it."

Zayn pockets the money and eyes Liam, at the other end of the store, looking more than a little self-satisfied.

—

Liam screws up each of their orders. He places Louis' food in front of Josh, gives Zayn onion rings and Niall chips, and nearly spills an entire glass of pepsi all over the table. When they're done eating, each of them fork out enough to cover their part of the bill, and then they each pitch in for the tip, but it's a small one. Honestly, Zayn would be lying if he said it wasn't it exactly what Liam had earned, given how much he'd screwed up.

"Where to next?" Niall asks as they're heading for the door.

"Roxy's?" Louis suggests.

Roxy's is a record store that is somehow still in business, despite the fact that most music is bought online nowadays. That's probably because the store is big enough that they have a small café set up inside, as well as a lounge area, and they do an open mic night once a month. It's pretty cool, Roxy's, and they've got some great CDs for really cheap. It's possibly Zayn's favourite place in town.

As they're walking out the door, Zayn slaps his forehead and says, "Shit, I forgot my phone. You guys head out. I'll catch up in a second."

Niall is the only one who gives him a questioning look, but he follows Josh and Niall after Zayn waves him off.

Liam is cleaning their table when he gets back to it. There's a slump in his shoulders and a defeated look on his face as he picks up their small tip. Zayn pulls the money Louis gave him out of his pocket, and he drops it on the table in front of Liam, who hadn't even noticed him yet.

Liam jerks up suddenly, almost tossing a plate at Zayn in his haste. "What—?"

"It probably doesn't mean much," Zayn admits, "but if it's any consolation, I think you're doing pretty good, for your first day."

Liam doesn't say anything, but Zayn doesn't really give him time to.

"You're a good one, Zayn," Cher says as he pushed open the door to the restaurant. "I wish you'd stop trying to convince the world otherwise."

—

"So, how was your summer?"

It's Monday, and Zayn's stuck in the counsellor's office for the first time this year. The school has three of them, and Zayn's pretty sure that his is supposed to specialize in understanding violent behaviour and figuring out ways to squelch it. He's annoyingly pretentious, too, Mr. Young, and he's got beady little blue eyes that are pale and watery. His nose is  _always_  runny, too, and he says things like  _whom_.

Zayn kicks his feet up on Mr. Young's desk and crosses his arms behind his head. He tilts his face so he's looking up at the ceiling, and he lets out a long, drawn out breath. There's a pencil sticking out of the ceiling tile. Eyebrows raised, Zayn wonders how it got there. And he wonders if Mr. Young knows it's there, and he can't be bothered to take it out, or if maybe he's never looked up and seen it.

"I asked you a question, Zayn," Mr. Young says patiently. "Did you have a nice time at home?"

Zayn sighs again looks out the window. It looks out at the field, and he can see other students out there, playing a game of footie. He can see Louis clearly, sleeves of his uniform pushes up, a beanie on his head despite the fact that you're not supposed to alter the uniform, and hats are a definite no.

"Did you have a good first week?" Mr. Young tries when Zayn still doesn't speak.

He shrugs, almost imperceptibly, and looks out the window again. The ball hits the back of the net and Louis' cheer can be heard even from here. If he weren't in this room, he'd smile at that. As it is, he keeps his expression cool and bored.

Mr. Young clucks his tongue. "Another year of you not opening up to me, then?" he asks. "You realize you can't graduate without me giving you a pass, right? That I can schedule more meetings for us, if that's what it takes. How does twice a week sound?" Zayn drops his feet from the table and crosses his arms over his chest, eyes narrowed. "Three times, then? Or maybe we should do a daily appointment."

"Do you read a lot, Marvin?" Zayn asks while leaning forward. He props his elbows up on the desk and raises his eyebrows expectantly.

"My name is Patrick," Mr. Young corrects. "And I guess you could say that. I do enjoy a good novel, every now and then."

Zayn nods, tucking a hand under his chin. "Do you ever wonder why almost every book, or movie, or song has an element of love in it? Every hero saves the girl and then they get a happily ever after. Every awkwardly frumpy girl manages to overcome her insecurities and, in turn, gets the guy of her dream. Do you ever wonder why that is?"

Mr. Young looks baffled. "Wouldn't you prefer to talk about something else? I was speaking with your mother before the term started, and she mentioned an incident this summer between—,"

"I think love is bullshit," Zayn says, cutting him off. "Relationships are based on lust and a mutual need for something, whether it be a need for companionship, or sometimes money, or maybe because that's what society expects of you. And when that lust dwindles, or one of them starts needing the other a little more and begins to realize that the feeling isn't mutual, the relationship falls apart."

Mr. Young looks about done with him, at this point. "I suppose that's true, to a certain extent," he says while taking off his glasses. He carefully folds them and places them on his desk before doing the same with his hands. He sits up straight, perfect posture, a natural expression on his face. "Is there any reason for this, or are you just deflecting?"

"Aren't we supposed to talk about me?" Zayn asks. "Because this is what I want to talk about. Aren't you always telling me to express myself better? To use my words?"

"Well, yes, but—,"

"There's this guy," Zayn says, cutting him off easily. "He works at this restaurant in town, right, and he's really awkward and totally shit at his job. He nearly spilled an entire drink on me and everything."

"Okay," Patrick says slowly. "What's the importance of this boy?"

Zayn shrugs once more. "I don't really know," he says, honestly puzzled.

The thing is, Liam has sort of been in the back of his mind since the day they met. It's like when you cross paths with a gorgeous stranger, and maybe you exchange a few words, maybe you just meet each other's eyes across a crowded room, and that's it. Nothing more, and yet you can't stop thinking about them. Wondering what they're like, what their favourite song is, what they look like when they've just woken up, what their lips taste like and whether or not they'd hold you gently in their arms or roughly push you up against a wall. But, like, deep down, you know nothing will ever happen there. You'll probably never cross paths again, probably never become anything more than two strangers who'll never mean anything to each other. And yet you can't stop wondering what if? What if you  _did_  meet again? What if you  _did_  come to mean something to one another?

It's really fucking ridiculous, actually, and Zayn's pretty fucking annoyed about it. He doesn't like people, especially not ones who blush too much and stutter and say ' _alrighty_ '. If he closes his eyes and sees wide brown ones in his mind again, he's going to punch someone. Or several someones.

"You're a counsellor," Zayn points out to Patrick. "You've read up on what goes on in people's heads, right? So tell me, how the fuck do I get this guy out of mine? Because he's driving me crazy, and he only said, like, twenty words to me, and half of them were 'We don't have Coke. Is Pepsi okay?'"

"Why don't we talk about your fight this summer instead?" Patrick suggests. "Let's get back to the real issues, Zayn."

Zayn goes back to staring up at the ceiling and sighing.

Eventually Patrick gives up trying to get through to him, and he waves Zayn out, reminding him that they have another meeting next Monday.

—

He may have forgotten about inviting Harry to hang out with them on the next day trip. Louis definitely didn't, and it isn't until Harry stands with them outside while they wait for the bus that everything Louis' done the last two days starts to make sense. He's been a jumpy, nervous wreck, which is really out of character for him. Normally, Louis doesn't care about anything. He's been fidgety at meals, though, and he's been snippier than usual, snapping on Josh and Niall and even Zayn for the simplest things. He also shaved for the first time since they've been to school, and instead of tugging a beanie onto his head after classes are over, he's styled his hair today. The sweatpants are here to stay, though, apparently.

"Hey," Harry says brightly as they queue up for the bus. He stands closest to Zayn, hands buried in the pockets of his jeans — his seriously tight jeans.

Let this moment go down in history, for (the first time ever) Louis Tomlinson is at a loss for words. He sort of just stands there, mouth open, staring at Harry like he's some kind of mythical creature. Thankfully Zayn's  _other_  friends aren't deficient. Josh gives Harry a welcoming smile, and Niall introduces himself.

Harry is awkward the whole time. He chuckles weakly at least three times, and he actually shakes everyone's hands, even Zayn's. When he gets to Louis, Louis continues to just stand there until Harry drops his hand and shuffles back a step.

Thankfully they're waved onto the bus after that, and Harry sits by himself in front of Josh and Niall. Zayn bumps his shoulder against Louis', mildly concerned. "You okay?" he asks.

Louis blinks at him. "Harry smells like bacon," he says in wonderment. "What the fuck?"

"I'm taking cooking," Harry explains, speaking loudly from three seats in front of them. He's turned all the way around, legs propped up on the seat, chin resting on the back of it. "We made bacon and onion quiche today."

"Oh," Louis says softly. "That's nice."

Harry grins and puts his headphones in. Louis slaps Zayn's leg, eyes wide. "How the fuck did he hear me?"

Zayn shrugs and leans back in his own seat, getting more comfortable. "I told you. The guy's unhinged."

Louis nods, accepting this. "Aren't we all?"

There's no point arguing with the truth, so Zayn doesn't bother. He does rest his head on Louis' shoulder, though, and they both fall asleep until Niall shakes them awake when the bus comes to a stop. Zayn groans and stretches, muscles feeling too tight after sitting in a cramped position for too long. Josh and Niall don't look any better, but Harry is all energy, rocking back on his heels as he waits outside the bus for them.

"Is it okay if I invited someone to hang out with us?" he asks. "He's a friend from town. I don't get to see him often, but he's great, I promise."

Zayn shrug and pulls out a cigarette. He doesn't care. No one else does, either, and Harry smiles at them for it, perky and cheerful. Again, Zayn wonders how Louis is in love with this guy. Louis is like a black hole. He's irritable and cynical, and Harry is like walking sunshine. He's even worse than Niall, and that's saying something because Niall hums Christmas songs while doing homework.

"Cool," Harry says. "Should I tell him to meet us here, or…?"

"He can meet us at the burger place on Ninth," Zayn tells him.

Louis gives him a curious look, but Niall elbows him pointedly in the ribs. "Are we going back there for the food, or the waiter?"

Zayn is going to throttle him.

He might have been in a bit of a mood when he got back from his meeting with Patrick on Monday. The first thing he did was head to his room to get his cigarettes. He was itching for one, as he always is after a meeting with Patrick, and he hadn't had one since that morning. Niall had been in the room, spread out on his bed with a decent amount of homework for his History class. He'd taken one look at Zayn and said, "What happened?"

And— Zayn isn't a sharer, okay? There are things even Louis doesn't know about him, and Louis knows him better than anyone else in the entire world. For some reason, he'd just blurted it all out, though. The fact that he hates his meetings with the counsellor because they're always so sure that there's something wrong with Zayn, when Zayn keeps assuring them that he's  _fine_. There's something wrong with the  _world_ , and Zayn just isn't the type of person who can pretend otherwise. But then he'd continued on, stupidly, stumbling over his words because he hadn't really thought them through before they slipped from his lips.

When he was fourteen, Zayn's entire English class was forced to read Romeo and Juliet. It was a two week long course that involved spending a week reading over the play, and then they watched the movie (the old one, not the one with Leonardo DiCaprio), and finally they each had to do a small essay on it. Almost all the guys in his class had been bored with it, and only a few had actually liked it, but Zayn was the only one who absolutely, positively fucking  _despised_  it.

Maybe he's just cynical, but there is nothing about two teenagers meeting each other and falling in love within a week and then killing themselves over each other that comes off as  _romantic_  to him. And, on top of that, the whole 'true love' and 'love at first sight' thing is the stupidest load of shit he's ever heard. It really is.

He'd told Niall all this, and then he'd finished with, "Which is why I don't know what the fuck is going on with me, because I can't get this guy out of my head."

Niall had looked more than a little taken aback, but he quickly shut that down and asked, "Who?"

Sighing, Zayn had admitted, "That guy from the restaurant the other day. The one with— with the eyes and those  _shoulders_."

Maybe it was best to go to Niall with this instead of Louis, he'd decided right afterwards. Louis would have laughed, without a doubt. Niall, on the other hand, had taken out another stashed joint (Zayn has no idea where he's getting them from, he really doesn't) and lit it before passing it to Zayn. Zayn had taken it, grateful, and while he puffed on the end of it and blew out clouds of smoke, Niall said, "Some people will do that to you. They climb inside your head, and you can't do shit all to get them out."

"That was so helpful," Zayn had muttered.

Niall had grinned at him. "Thanks. But seriously, I think the only thing you can do is just go along with it. Either you'll never see him again, and you'll eventually stop thinking about it, or maybe fate'll bring you two together."

Zayn had given him a disbelieving look. "You smoke a lot of pot without me, don't you?"

"Maybe," Niall had admitted.

"And you're high as a kite right now."

"Also a possibility."

But still, he figured Niall was right. And it was already working. Zayn hadn't even thought of Liam once today — until now. His subconscious is fucking with him, though, because he hadn't even meant to suggest they go to the restaurant, but now that Niall's called him out on it, he knows that Liam is exactly why he wants to go there.

"Fuck off," Zayn hisses anyways.

Harry pulls out a phone and quickly types out a text. A moment later his phone beeps. "Nuclear. He says he'll meet us there."

"Nuclear?" Josh asks.

Zayn tunes out his explanation of that damn catchphrase again, but Louis is avidly nodding along to what Harry's saying like he's the most brilliant thing in the entire world. It's disturbing.

When they get to the restaurant, Zayn's heart plunges into his stomach. He hates himself for it, but there's no doubt that the reasoning for that is the fact that Liam isn't here. He can see Cher working her way through tables and a few other employees moving around the room. Liam isn't one of them.

"I'm not hungry anymore," Zayn decides. "Let's go somewhere else."

So what if the burgers here are the best in town. So what if the prices are good and the service is good and Zayn absolutely loves this restaurant. He's not going to eat here because he's disappointed about not seeing Liam again and, fuck, really? Is this really happening to him? He's never coming to this damn restaurant again. If he goes the rest of his life without seeing Liam again, he'll be better off. One hour of exposure to those brown eyes and Zayn is fucked enough.

"We just got here," Josh protests. Zayn sneers at him for it. He doesn't care.

"And Liam will be here soon," Harry adds.

Zayn freezes. "What did you just say?"

Harry frowns. "I said that— oh, see, there he is!"

Zayn turns, looking out the window behind them. Walking up the street is a figure that is way more familiar than it should be. Liam's got his head ducked, hands in his pockets, but it's definitely him. He doesn't look up until he's at the door to the restaurant, and when he does, he meets Zayn's eyes.

It's like his breath has been knocked out of him, and he sort of just  _stares_  like a fucking  _idiot_. Liam pulls open the door and steps inside, a small smile on his face for Harry. It slips away the second it lands on Zayn again. Recognition flashes in his eyes and he takes a sharp breath.

"Liam!" Louis says loudly. "Our fumbling waiter. How nice to see you again. Hopefully you won't be serving us today. I'd like to leave here without a plate of food being spilled on me."

Liam flushes and says, "I'm off today."

"You know each other?" Harry asks, looking between all of them. "Nuclear! Seriously. Liam is my favourite person in the world."

"You're not so bad yourself," Liam teases, but he keeps darting looks at Zayn while he does, gaze flickering away every time he realizes Zayn's looking back at him.

He smells Cher first. That's sort of weird, but there it is. She always smells like sweet perfume and faint cologne and cigarettes, though she's never once (that he knows) smoked in her life. It's a nice combination, one that would have him pulling her close and inhaling if she wouldn't smack him for it. "What are you doing here?" she asks, but she's talking to Liam, despite the fact that her hand is now casually resting on Zayn's shoulder. "You don't work today."

"I was invited, actually," Liam tells her.

Cher finally takes all of them in as a whole. "Oh," she says. "Huh. That can't be good for anyone involved."

Harry sticks out his hand at her. "I'm Harry." Before she can say anything, he continues. "I already know who you are. Liam doesn't have many friends, as I'm sure you know. You're Cher. You're like those cough drops, the ones with the hard shell but the soft, gooey inside. Totally sweet, even if you don't look it."

"I'll get you guys a table," Cher says after carefully extracting her hand from Harry's, an expression on her face that Zayn is starting to realize is signature to someone who's just had the pleasure of conversing with Harry Styles.

For the first time ever, they don't sit at a booth. There's not enough room for the six of them. Instead Cher cleans off a table of eight and clears away two of the place settings before handing them each a menu and taking their drink orders. When she's gone, Louis says, "So, Harry, Liam, how do you two know each other?"

"We grew up together," Harry supplies. "I live, like, twenty minutes from here, and we went to the same schools growing up."

Liam smiles tightly at this, eyes on the table. He's sat right beside Zayn. Niall had almost taken that seat, but at the last second he'd grabbed Zayn's shoulders and shoved him into it. He's not sure if he wants to kill Niall or kiss him, because Liam smells like laundry detergent and Axe body spray, which is something he thought he hated, but apparently that is no longer true.

"What about the rest of you?" Liam asks.

"We go to school together," Harry answers. "Remember? Zayn is in my Math class. He likes that Every Avenue song I told you about the other day."

Liam nods slowly. "Which one is Zayn?"

Zayn can't resist. He rubs his foot against Liam's leg under the table and says, "You're looking at him." And he's looking at Liam, up close for the first time. Without even thinking, he reaches out a hand, almost brushing Liam's cheek. He drops it at the last second because Liam flinches away from him. "Shit, someone got you good, huh?"

The bruise is almost faded, but it's that sickly green and yellow colour that looks almost more painful than the red and blue it probably was a few days ago. It's directly under his right eye, and it's not small. Someone had to have hit him hard, and with intention. You don't get that kind of mark unless someone means it.

"It's— it was just—,"

"Shit, Li," Harry says softly. "Where'd you get that?"

"In gym on Tuesday," Liam says quickly. "We were playing tennis. It was an accident. Kelsey Worthington, remember her? The one with the curls and the freckles? Accidentally got me with a good backhand. That girl can really play." He forces out a laugh.

Zayn really can't be the only one who hears the off tone in his voice, right? But one look around the table says that no one else sees anything wrong with that story. In fact, Harry chuckles and Louis says, "Sometimes you enjoy balls in the face, sometimes you don't."

"Ew," Niall mutters while Josh chokes on a laugh.

Cher interrupts the conversation to drop off their drinks and ask them if they want to order. Each of them has been here enough that they really don't need menus, and she's wandering off two minutes later, tucking her notepad back into the pocket of her jeans.

"Anyways," Harry says. "How's work, Liam?"

Liam shrugs and sips his drink — water with three ice cubs, and he was really specific about the three ice cubes— for a moment. "Which job?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Liam works three jobs," he explains. "Fucking superhero, this kid. But I meant working here, obviously."

Liam shrugs again. "It's fine."

"What about that guy?" Harry insists. Liam shakes his head, looking horrified, but Harry keeps going. "The one that you said was bugging you your first day, the one that you've been obsessing about. Did he come in again? The hot one with the tattoos and the hair and—," he cuts off, eyes sliding to Zayn. "Oh."

Liam blinks down at his drink. "You know, they say you can drown in just a few inches of water. I think I'm going to test that theory."

"So you said you live around here?" Louis asks Harry, rescuing Liam from his apparent embarrassment.

Zayn tunes that conversation out. He doesn't care. And Niall is busy with his head bent towards Josh, who's beaming at him and brushing their arms together too often to be coincidental, for Zayn to use him as a distraction. Whatever they're talking about, Zayn is clearly not invited to join. That leaves Liam, who is stirring his water with his straw, looking down at it as if it holds the secrets to the universe.

It takes a while, but finally Liam looks up at him. "I wasn't obsessing about you, in case you're wondering. You can't really listen to anything Harry says. He once told me clouds were made out of cotton candy and that when you die it's an all you can eat sugary buffet up in the sky. I'm pretty sure he really thought it was true, too."

Maybe it's because he's feeling left out by everyone else, or maybe it's because Liam looks up at him with eyes that make him think of Bambi after his mother died, or maybe it's because he's lost his damned mind recently, but he blurts, "I'm sorry for last Friday."

That was apparently the wrong thing to say. Liam's eyes narrow as he digs around in his pockets, and he pulls out a wallet. He carefully extracts twenty pounds and holds it out to Zayn. "I don't like taking money I didn't earn," he says. "I've actually been hoping to see you so I could give this back."

Zayn is distinctly aware of Louis watching them now. He hadn't mentioned to anyone that he'd done that. That he'd went back and tipped Liam every bit of the money Louis had given him for fucking with Liam that day. "Keep it," Zayn says quietly. "Trust me, you did earn it. I would have punched myself if I were you."

Liam ignores him and tries to hand Zayn the money again. "Take it. Seriously."

"I don't want it," Zayn says defiantly.

"Neither do I."

"I'm not taking it back."

"Then I guess I'll just leave it here on the table."

"Are you two seriously arguing because neither of you will take the money?" Niall asks. "Because I'll take it, if you want."

Zayn glares at him and then turns that look on Liam. "Fine," he says, and he snatches the money from Liam's hand. Liam looks distinctly satisfied after that. Zayn can't believe this is seriously the guy he's been fantasizing about for a week.

For the rest of their time at the restaurant, Liam and Zayn sit in hostile silence. Everyone else goes about the meal with cheerful chatter, Louis looking like Christmas came early with Harry sitting beside him. Zayn just wants to leave.

When the bill arrives, Zayn covers his own, and then he hands the twenty from Liam to Cher and says, "I'll cover Liam's, too."

"Aw," Cher coos while ruffling his hair. Liam glares at Zayn now, but he sighs in resignation instead of arguing about it.

—

After they leave the restaurant, Louis suggests they go to Roxy's. Everyone agrees. Everyone except Zayn, that is. He needs to get another pack of cigarettes for himself (he's running dangerously low, and if he runs out and can't get more until next Friday — he's not sure what would happen, but it's best not to find out), and he also wants to stop in at the bookstore. He needs something new to read, and the guys never want to come in with him because he'll spend forever in there, browsing the aisles as he always does.

Surprisingly enough, Liam asks, "Can I come with you?"

He has no idea why Niall's answering for him, but when Niall says, "Sure. He'd love for you to!" Zayn doesn't protest.

Everyone else heads left while Zayn heads right, eyes on the pavement. He hears Liam's footsteps beside him, but he doesn't look up even when they get to the store. He does push the door open wide enough that it won't shut too quickly and hit Liam, but that's about it.

"King-size of the cheapest brand you've got," he says to the guy behind the counter.

The clerk grabs him out a pack and drops it onto the counter. "You got I.D., kid?"

Zayn pulls out money and the fake I.D. he's had for years. It's a good one, made by Mark from room 18 that makes spectacular fake I.D.s for fifty pounds a piece and your dessert for a month. It was worth it, even if he'd grudgingly handed over plates of pie and cake and cookies for weeks.

When they get outside, and Zayn's pocketing his smokes, Liam gives him a look that's equal parts impressed and disproving. "Fake I.D.?" he asks. Zayn shrugs, nods. "I didn't even know those actually existed. I thought they were made up, like in movies and stuff."

Zayn grins at him. "Why, you want one? They work for alcohol, too, and getting into clubs. I know a guy."

Liam makes a face. "No need for one. I don't drink."

He looks sincere, is the thing. "Seriously?" Zayn asks. "Like, ever?"

"Occasionally," Liam admits, "but only when I'm dragged to a party by Harry and there's nothing else to do  _but_  get drunk. But I don't really like it. Alcohol's a waste of money, pointless calories, and I don't like not being in control of myself."

"Huh," Zayn says. Just like at the table, there's that false note to Liam's voice. Or maybe he's just giving off a vibe. Either way, Zayn doesn't believe him at all.

Liam looks a bit surprised when Zayn stops at the bookstore and pushes open the door, but he follows Zayn inside anyways. Really, this isn't something Zayn likes to do with  _witnesses_. He prefers to go into the bookstore alone, spend as much time as he wants doing exactly what he wants, and that rarely involves someone else doing it with him.

But Liam is quiet as Zayn moves through the aisles, and every time Zayn stops to check out a certain book, Liam hovers just behind him, not close enough to be annoying but still _there_.

"Are you just going to follow me around?" Zayn snaps after shoving a book back onto the shelf. He turns and gives Liam a raised eyebrow look, trying not to feel bad about the startled look in Liam's eyes.

"I can go, if you, um, want," Liam says. He jerks a thumb over his shoulder, not gesturing anywhere near the direction of the door because Zayn knows for a fact that he exit is to the left, not the right.

Zayn sighs and ducks around the corner, but he says, "No, it's fine. Stay if you want," over his shoulder, for reasons unknown to him. It should be said, right then and there, that Zayn is obviously a little screwed when it comes to Liam, and not even in the fun way.

"Do you read quite a lot?" Liam hesitantly asks.

Zayn looks up from the blurb of the mystery novel he's reading. "Maybe," he admits, lips tilting up, "but don't tell anyone that."

Liam snorts. "Who could I tell? It's not as if we've got a lot of mutual friends."

"Right," Zayn says. He keeps the book in his hand as they continue on. "What about you?" he finds himself wondering out loud. "Do you read?"

Liam shrugs, looking more than a little embarrassed. "Not really. I don't have the time. I'm fairly busy, most days."

Zayn nods and stops in front of a new section (sci-fi, possibly his favourite, but that's dorky or whatever so he tries to look bored and disinterested as he searches through titles from some of his favourite authors). "Harry said you worked three jobs, right?" Why does he remember that? Why does he care? Oh, right, he doesn't.

Except he totally does.

"I'm saving up for University," Liam explains. "I'm not exactly book smart, but I can get the grades, if I work hard enough. Really I'm just desperate to get out of here, you know?" He stops, blushing that pink that Zayn likes more than he wants to. "Um. Not that there's anything wrong with this place. I'm happy here. Definitely. Just— I want a change of pace, you know? Small town, I'm looking for something more."

Side-eying him, Zayn says, "You're a shit liar, you know that?"

"E-excuse me?" Liam struggles to get the words out, only further enforcing Zayn's words.

"Trust me," Zayn says as he pulls out a new book from a series he's been reading for years. "I'm a lying expert, and you're terrible at it."

Something shuts down in Liam's eyes, and he crosses his arms tightly around his stomach. "How would you know?" he snaps. "You don't even know me."

Zayn blinks, taken aback by the sudden flip in Liam's attitude. "You're right," he says with a shrug. "I don't." And I don't want to, he tells himself. Zayn really is a lying expert, though, and he prides himself on being able to see through bullshit — even his own.

At least Liam lets him shop in peace after that. He lingers more than a few steps behind Zayn, still weaving through the shelves with him, but no longer close enough that it feels companionable.

Zayn gets a set weekly allowance. It's a fair amount, but he knows that it's not out of the goodness of his parent's hearts. It's a bribe. He behaves, they give him money. He goes a week without getting a call from the school about another fight, or Zayn talking back to a teacher, and they deposit money in his account. They've never explicitly said that's what's happening, but Zayn's not stupid.

"I'm sorry," Liam says when they get outside.

Zayn lights up a cigarette and frowns at him as he cups a hand around the flame of the lighter. He blows out the smoke of the first drag without inhaling (something he was taught to do years ago, and he's still not sure  _why_  but he's done it habitually since then) and arches an eyebrow. "For what?"

Liam starts walking beside him once again, his eyes on a spot far in the distance. "You might be right about me being a terrible liar, but I do it quite a bit," he shares with a quiet voice. He lifts his chin a bit, and Zayn notes how nice his jaw is, strong and sharp.

"Everyone has secrets though, right?" Liam muses, an almost sarcastic twist to his lips. "And maybe some of us have to lie to keep ours, but I think everyone's entitled to one secret that they get to keep to themselves, don't you?"

Zayn puzzles at this. He nods, though, because he thinks Liam's right. "Yeah," he says. "I guess so."

Despite that, despite thinking that everyone's entitled to privacy and their own secrets, he can't help but wonder what Liam's is. Wonder what he's hiding underneath that soft expression and the flush in his cheeks and the light in those brown eyes.

—

Zayn's outside, smoking with one hand and stabbing a tree with the now broken end of a pen with the other after another rough session with Patrick, when Niall runs up to him. He's out of breath, his hair sticking to his sweaty forehead under his snapback, and he leans heavily against the back of Zayn's bench as Zayn continues to brutally mutilate the bark of the tree.

" _Do you ever wonder why you have such a cynical outlook on the world, Zayn? Do you ever wonder_ why _you're so angry?"_  echoes loudly in his mind.  _"When you say you hate everything, does that include yourself?"_

Yeah, Patrick can go fuck himself.

"What'd the tree do to you?" Niall asks after he catches his breath. "And you're going to get caught smoking out in the open like this during the day."

"I don't really give a shit," Zayn grinds out.

Niall carefully extracts the pen from his grip, something that shocks Zayn to no end. Even Louis isn't that ballsy, not when Zayn's in a really bad mood. And he doesn't do anything about it because it's  _Niall_ , and he's not mad at  _Niall_ , he's mad at himself. And Patrick. And maybe Liam, too, because he only got, like, two hours of sleep last night even after he'd snuck outside. He was too plagued by their conversations, playing over and over in his mind despite the fact that nothing really meaningful had been exchanged between them. Nothing that warranted his attention, definitely. God, he's losing his mind, he really is.

"Louis told me to come get you," Niall says as he moves around to Zayn's side of the bench. He sits, not too close to Zayn, thankfully. There's a respectful distance between them, which is definitely a good thing. Zayn is radiating irritation and anger and he knows it.

"Louis can come out and fucking talk to me if it's that important," Zayn grunts. "I'm not getting up any time soon."

There's blissful silence as Niall chews his lip, frowning at Zayn in a way that is far too clinical. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asks.

Zayn shakes his head. "I don't get that," he says. "I don't get why people think you can solve your problems by  _talking_ about them. Why  _talking_  about something will make you feel better. Like sharing your thoughts and your feelings will change them. Will change anything. It doesn't, and it's fucking annoying that everyone keeps forcing me to do it."

"I take it your counselling session didn't go well," Niall says lightly.

Zayn carves Patrick's name into the tree and instead of dotting the 'i', he stabs the tree extra hard for emphasis. Niall, ridiculously enough, laughs. "If you don't want to talk about the truth, just tell them what they want to hear," he says. " ' My parents didn't give me enough attention so I started rebelling to get their attention.'" He grins at Zayn. "Seriously. Blame it on the adults in your life and your counsellor will eat that shit up. That's what they're looking for. Doesn't matter what the real issues are, or if there even is one. They've already got their minds set on what's wrong, so play along with it."

Zayn actually considers this. "Is that what you do?"

"Sort of, yeah," Niall admits. "I mean, I don't go with the parental blame, because I can't really blame smoking weed on them. So instead I fabricated this bullshit story about peer pressure and shit. My counsellor says I'm making  _so much progress, now that we've gotten to the route of the problem_."

Instinctually, Zayn scoots over a bit so he and Niall are sitting with their sides pressed against each other. He closes his eyes and leans on Niall's shoulder as he finishes the last of his cigarettes.

"Anyways," Niall says when he flicks the butt away, "Louis told me to come get you because apparently everyone's getting all excited about a game of manhunt on Wednesday or something. I don't know. Manhunt?"

Zayn sits up straighter, eyes widening. That easy, his anger dissipates and he's grinning, wide and bright. He jumps up, snatching his sweater off the bench as he does. "Just wait," Zayn says happily. "You're about to see just how we have fun here at McKinnon."

Niall looks a little wary; he should.

—

Zayn's laying in bed at twelve on Wednesday night. He's thrumming with energy, staring up at his ceiling though it's too dark to see anything. He's not comfortable enough to sleep, not in his jeans and a sweater that's too thick to be worn inside and his sneakers. Niall, in his bed, is just as restless. He keeps shuffling, rolling over, and he's not sleeping; Zayn's become too accustomed to Niall's snoring to believe that the other boy is sleeping when it's this quiet in the room.

Pressing the button on his cellphone, Zayn reads the time and grins. 12:17. Three minutes and counting. He shoves his phone back in his pocket and taps his fingers restlessly on his thigh while he waits.

A little more than three minutes later, Zayn hears something crash on the floor beneath them. There's a shout, and bright light suddenly shines through the cracks in his door.

"Everyone stay in your rooms!" one of the staff members shouts. "Everything's fine. Go back to bed."

Zayn throws his blankets off and gets out of bed in record time, Niall doing the same. They wait just in front of their door as the sound of footsteps disappearing down the hall echoes loudly, and then there's a loud creaking, and another, and another, and a softer thump of footsteps as student after student exits their room, heading for the main stairwell. Zayn pushes open their door and Niall follows him.

As soon as they're outside, Zayn sprints for the gymnasium building. Niall's right behind him, breath heaving almost as much as Zayn's. They're not the only ones. In the darkness, he can see figure after figure bolting for the building in the distance.

They don't stop until they're on the other side, out of view of any of the schools' windows. There's at least thirty of them (not everyone is invited on these nights, only the most trustworthy), everyone dressed in dark but comfortable clothing. He spots Louis near his own roommate (who Louis hates passionately) and makes a beeline for him.

He stops in his tracks when movement catches his eye. It's not that weird, given how many people are around him right now, but where the movement is coming from throws him off. Zayn could have sworn he'd seen someone moving around in the gym, but that's impossible.

As soon as they get to Louis, Harry slides up next to them, bouncing up and down on his feet, and— "Liam. What the fuck are you doing here?" Louis demands.

"I invited him," Harry answers immediately. Hhe slings an arm over Liam's shoulder. "Problem?"

"No," Louis says honestly. "I'm just wondering how the fuck he got onto the property without getting caught."

Liam and Harry exchange a look. "We have our ways," Harry says mysteriously. "And this isn't the first time. Or the second. Or even the twentieth, probably."

Louis' eyebrows draw together at this, and Zayn has no doubts that Louis' trying to work out how they're doing that. The two of them (and Josh, though not often because Josh doesn't like getting in trouble, which is why he's in his bed right now, warm and safe and comfortable) have snuck off campus three times over the years, but it wasn't easy. They've almost got caught two out of three times, and they've gotten locked out once, which is why they haven't done it again since. It had rained that night, and they'd been stuck on the grounds, freezing and wet and too scared of punishment to suck in their pride and get one of the staff members to let them in.

"How  _do_  you manage that?" Zayn asks Liam's.

In the darkness, the only light coming from the school in the distance and the moon and stars above, Liam is more confident. He stands a bit closer to Zayn, almost leaning into him, and he whispers, "Secrets, remember?" in Zayn's ear.

"Attention!" someone says loudly. Everyone turns to Max, who's standing on the bench just outside the back door of the gym, giving him just that. "I'm sure everyone here understands the rules, right?"

A few people makes sounds of disagreement, and someone mutters, "Newbies."

"Okay, okay," Max says, quieting them down. "For those of us who are in their first year at McKinnon, I'll give you a rundown. On nights like tonight, nights that don't happen often enough, we take back our freedom. We rebel against the man. We engage in a good, old fashion, clean game of manhunt." Zayn rolls his eyes at Louis; Max gives this speech  _every time_ , even if every single person in attendance knows the rules. Max is the one who distracts the staff and makes this all possible, though, so everyone sucks it up and lets him do his thing, no matter how annoying it is. "The rules are simple: you must stay on the property. Anyone who goes off grounds, or sneaks back inside the school, is instantly disqualified. It's every man for himself. You can pair up into groups, or you can run and hide separately, but there can only be one winner."

An arm brushes against Zayn's, distracting him for a moment. Liam is staring straight ahead, but even in the dark, the soft smile on his face is noticeable.

"— you're caught, you're to return here to wait for the game to be done, or you can volunteer to help whoever's It find the remaining players."

"What does the winner get?" Niall asks.

"Ah, Niall, what a great question. Anyone care to answer it?" Max asks pretentiously.

"Go fuck yourself," someone shouts. There's a quiet smattering of giggling.

"Rude," Max says. "But, to answer your question, the winner gets the ability to kick any and every person out of the bathroom for half an hour every morning for a month."

That's one of the reasons everyone plays. It's not  _just_  fun. The prize is pretty fucking awesome. Not that Zayn's ever gotten it.

"And if any of the staff members finds out about this," Max says, a dangerous change in his voice, "We'll find out who told, and you'll regret it."

Unanimously, they make sounds of agreement.

"Alright. Lapman, you're it. Everyone else, you have exactly sixty—,"

"Why me?" Joseph Lapman demands.

"Because you're a fucking cheater," someone says. "Cheaters are It automatically. That's the rules."

"That's the rules," everyone repeats.

"That's the rules," Max adds. "Everyone has a sixty second head-start, starting—," he pauses for dramatic effect, " _now_."

A few people let out quiet whoops of excitement as everyone dashes away from the gymnasium building. A hand grabs Zayn's, and he doesn't have to look to know it's Liam's. Louis is on his other side, lagging behind just a bit as they run for the woods.

None of them slow as they break the tree line. The sound of many bodies crashing through the foliage fills the air, but it's easy to drown out when he's got a sweaty, strong hand gripping his. He wants to stop and ask Liam what that's all about, but he doesn't. He just keeps running, even when Louis shouts, "Splitting up! See you bastards later!" and he turns abruptly, heading in another direction. Not long after, Niall and Harry do the same. Liam's hand slips from his, but they keep running until Zayn's gasping from breath.

Zayn slows before coming to a stop. He leans heavily against the nearest tree and tries to figure out where they are. In the distance, so far off, he can see the top of the school. They made it pretty far, but they're still just within the grounds.

"Now what?" Liam asks. Somehow he looks more like he just walked up a rather steep set of stairs than he'd just run for about five minutes. Light shines off the sheen of sweat on his forehead, and there's a slightly breathless quality to his voice, but he's not hunched over and starved for breath like Zayn.

When he feels like he can talk without a lung coming out of his mouth, Zayn answers him. "We probably just hide out here for a bit, until we hear someone coming near us. And then we run again."

"And how do we get caught?" Liam wonders.

Zayn reaches into his pocket and tugs out his school tie. "Joseph has to get a picture of everyone he's caught on his phone. The last person to get their picture taken wins."

Liam nods. "So you all do this fairly often, then. I mean, you've got pretty elaborate rules set up, and it doesn't sound like this is anywhere near the first time you've done it."

"Not often enough," Zayn says. "Not as often as you sneak onto the property, anyways," he teases.

At least he looks a little sheepish at this. "I don't do it  _that_  often," Liam denies. He shuffles a bit on his feet, kicking up a few dead leaves that have fallen from the trees above them. "Just when I know things are going to be difficult at home. I text Harry and park on the road not far from here, actually, and there's a hole in the fence that borders this place that I've used for years."

"And you stay the whole night?" Zayn clarifies. Liam nods. "What, do you sneak into the building, too?"

"Not the school building."

"The gym?" Zayn demands. "That's impossible."

"Have you  _met_  Harry?" Liam asks. "You try telling him something's impossible. He doesn't take no for an answer."

Zayn runs overt this all in his mind. "So you just break onto the property of a school that I've literally broken  _out_  of, and you, what? Spend the night in the gym?" Liam grins in a way that says he's not going to answer that question. "Okay, fine," Zayn relents. "Can you at least tell me why the fuck you grabbed my hand back there? Or is that a secret, too?"

"Was that— was that not okay?" Liam asks, and Zayn is cursing the dark because it hides the blush that he knows is in Liam's cheeks. "I just didn't want us to get separated. I mean, I wanted this. Um. To be alone. C _rap,_ that sounds creepy, doesn't it? I'm—"

"Liam." Zayn cuts him off.

"Yeah?"

"It's fine."

"Oh. Okay."

Zayn sinks down to the ground, thankful that the cover of the trees has kept the ground relatively dry, despite the amount of rainfall they've had. He digs into his pocket and fingers his lighter before pulling it out, along with a little present from Niall.

"Is that a joint?" Liam inquires.

Zayn twirls it in his fingers. "Maybe."

Without warning, Liam pushes off from the tree he's leaning against, and he sits himself down beside Zayn, crossing his legs. Zayn brings the joint to his lips and lights it. The crackling of burning paper and the strong, heady scent of the bud makes him smile serenely as he takes a hit off the joint.

He's smoked about a third of it when Liam hesitantly asks, "Can I have some?"

The only thing Zayn doesn't like about weed is that is loosens him just a tad too much. It's not like alcohol, where he blurts whatever comes to mind without care, but it makes him a little slower at covering things up, and the surprised sound slips from his lips before he can stop it. "Really?"

Liam nods and holds out a hand. Zayn passes him the joint, watching in wonderment as the red cherry seems to almost float in the blackness of the darkened forest. When Liam inhales, it glows brighter, illuminating his face a bit.

"I didn't peg you for the type," Zayn admits when Liam hands him the joint back.

Liam shrugs and pulls his legs up so they're against his chest, arms wrapped around the knees. "I'm not. Not usually. I like the way it dulls things sometimes, though. Mutes the world so it's not as harsh. Slows everything down."

Zayn nods. He gets that, he does. He really, really does, actually. "Same."

They sit like that, passing the joint back and forth until it's a tiny little stub that burns Zayn's fingers and lips when he tries to get as much from it as he possibly can. Far off, Zayn can hear people running, someone laughing and another one shouting. Not close enough that they have anything to worry about, though. It's just a nice assurance that the game hasn't abruptly ended and he's been left alone in the dark to wait for hours. He's been afraid of that happening in the past. He gets a bit paranoid when he's out alone in these woods.

"Why did you want to be alone with me?" Zayn asks. He's got his head tilted back against the tree, eyes closed. Liam's breathing is steady and calming, coupled with the weed, and he feels like he could nod off like this.

"I think you're kind of a dick," Liam says instead of answering.

Zayn laughs louder than he probably should. "I am."

"Not completely, though," Liam protests. "The asshole side of you doesn't completely hide the other side. Don't think I haven't forgotten that tip you gave me that day, even if you were doing your best to make me uncomfortable beforehand."

Zayn shifts around, guilt seeping into him, not for the first time in Liam's presence. "That was my way of saying I'm sorry, and I'm an idiot sometimes."

"I figured as much. And it made me a bit curious," Liam says. "That's probably why I wanted to be alone with you. I'm curious. You're different when you're not putting on a show for your friends or everyone else, and maybe I want to know who you really are."

Things like that, cheesy and cliché and pretentious, can only be uttered and taken seriously in the dark, when everything else is blurred and non-existent. When everything's whispered and sincere and the words seem to hover in the air between them, almost tangible, is the only time Zayn wouldn't laugh at someone saying something like that.

"You know," Zayn says quietly, "over the years, I've learned that weed doesn't mute  _everything_."

Liam raises his eyebrows. "Oh?"

Zayn grins and grabs Liam's hand. He flips it over, palm side up, and runs his finger tips over the soft, cushy pad of his palm, and then over the calluses just below each of his fingers, and then up the bony knobs of said fingers. Liam sucks in a sharp breath and Zayn smirks up at him. "See?" He lets his fingers trail down to Liam's wrist, "This isn't muted."

He slides his hand up Liam's forearm, and then his bicep, and he walks his fingers over Liam's shoulder until he's scratching at the short hairs at the back of Liam's neck. And Liam lets him. Sinks into the touch, even, until Zayn gives him more. He brushes Liam's cheek, and then his eyebrows, dipping down his nose and finally tracing his lips.

Liam clears his throat. "I'd, um, sort of like for you to kiss me now. I mean, that'd be okay. If you want to."

Zayn goes to clear his own throat and wet his lips to answer that, to tell Liam that, yeah, he does want to. He really, really does, stupidly enough. Even though he doesn't know  _why_ he does. Doesn't know why Liam gets under his skin even when he's not trying Before he can, the light of a flashlight cuts through the trees not far from him, and someone shouts, "Everyone inside, right this instant!"

Both he and Liam stumble into a standing position. "That didn't sound like a student," Liam says worriedly.

"It wasn't," Zayn confirms. He recognizes their headmaster's voice too well, and it chills him. " _Shit_."

"I should go," Liam says.

Zayn nods. "Probably for the best. They'll be scouring the grounds all night, I bet. I doubt you'd be able to get anywhere without being caught."

"I'll text Harry and let him know." Zayn wants to punch himself for the twinge of jealousy that he gets at that. Why should Harry and Liam's friendship bother him? Why should he care if Harry probably knows what Liam's favourite movie is and what kind of ice cream he likes best and what his last name is. Why would he care if Harry is probably the person that Liam calls in the middle of the night when he needs someone to talk to?

"You do that," Zayn snips.

Liam looks confused by the sharpness of his voice, but instead of saying anything, he swoops in and warm lips are suddenly grazing Zayn's cheek. "Maybe you could text me sometime, too," he offers.

"I— I don't have your number." Zayn sounds dazed and stupid, and since when is he the one fumbling over his words? That's Liam's thing, not his.

"I'll tell Harry to give it to you," Liam says quickly. The flashlight seems to be getting closer., "if you want."

The flashlight shines on them for a second, and Liam looks like a deer in the headlights before he runs off. He's too far gone, but Zayn still says, "I want."

—

Twenty-seven of them are gathered in the cafeteria. Six of them managed to get back inside, but each of them were caught trying to sneak back into their dorm rooms. Their headmaster, Mr. Cartwright, is standing near the doors, hands clasped tightly behind his back. He's an old, almost frail looking, mean old man. Right now, the wrinkles and folds of his face are moulded into a look of pure, unadulterated rage.

They're each lined up, shoulder to shoulder. Louis is way down at the right end of the line. Niall is four people to his left. Each and every one of them has the sense to look scolded and solemn, but Zayn doubts that'll make any difference.

Burns—  _Mr. Cartwight_ , he corrects himself, coughs quietly to clear his throat. The rest of the staff members (nearly all of them gathered in the cafeteria as well, though a few have been stationed in the dorms to assure that there isn't any other break outs tonight) step closer to him, but he waves them off. "I don't think any of you understand the magnitude of what you did tonight," he says, careful to meet each of their gazes for a brief period of time. When he gets to Zayn, Zayn stands up a little straighter.

There's something inside of Zayn that was wired the wrong way. When you're supposed to bow down to authority, respectfully duck your head and admit your wrongs, he rebels. It's not even a conscious decision. It's just who he  _is_. He can't  _help it_. When someone tells him to do something, he wants to do the exact opposite. When someone tries to lecture him, he wants to roll his eyes and spit out whatever sarcastic words pop into his head.

That's what happens now. Everyone standing in a row, all of them doing their best to look repentant, and Zayn wants to scream. Thankfully he's smarter than that, though, so he just shifts on his feet, narrows his eyes, and waits for whatever punishment they're all going to get.

"Are you aware of what we're trying to do for all of you here?" Mr. Cartwright asks. There's only a momentary pause, not long enough for anyone to answer. "We're trying to  _help_  you. The sole purpose of this institution is to help you all be better people. To take you off your paths of destruction and teach reform, repentance,  _regret_. How to become the respectable members of society, and tonight…" he shakes his head. "Tonight you made a  _mockery_  of us all! Of yourselves. Of this  _school_. How  _dare_  you!"

"And I look around," Cartwright continues, "at each of your faces, and you know what I see? I do see regret, clear as day on each of your faces. But no regret for what you've done. Not regret for breaking the rules, for going behind the backs of every person here who's trying to better your lives. You regret getting caught, and nothing more. You regret the repercussions of your actions, but not your actions themselves, and that. That is something we're going to change, right now."

A staff member steps forward and hands him a sheet of paper. Cartwright takes it tightly in his hands, eyes scanning it quickly. "Right. First off, curfew will be moved to 8pm. Dessert? Don't expect that again this year. Extracurricular activities, like football and lacrosse and track? Gone. Done. Every single privilege, every single thing that isn't necessarily, is now banned."

"No football?" someone whispers, but it's loud enough to be heard.

"Nope," Cartwright says happily. "For the entire school, not just those of you in this room right now. And on top of that, this list I hold in my hand will be taped up all over the school. On it is each of your names, so your schoolmates will know exactly who is responsible for their early curfew. For the lack of apple pie after dinner. For the cancellation of their favourite sports teams."

Both of the guys on either side of Zayn stiffen. This, more than anything else, is worrying. It's one thing to punish each of them for their actions, but when the rest of the school is suffering because of them, they won't take it lightly. Zayn can foresee countless fights and argument and shunning that this will bring.

"And each and every one of you," Cartwright says, "will be subjected to detention. Every night after dinner until seven for a month, and you'll each be expected to write a five thousand word essay on why we do not break rules here. Understood?"

"Understood," is grumbled throughout the cafeteria.

"I asked you a question! I want each of you to answer!"

"Understood!" is shouted back at him this time.

"Good," Cartwright says. "Now off to bed. You'll each be woken up by the morning bell at five tomorrow. I suggest you spend the next few hours sleeping."

They're gestured out of the room, single file. There's staff members on each side of them, and any and all attempts at conversation are instantly squelched. Zayn tries to meet Louis' eyes, but he's shoved back into line and shuffled forward before he can.

When he gets to his room, Niall comes in right behind him. He's dirty, mud streaking his shirt and his cheeks. His blonde hair is sticking up in all directions, and it looks like he'd spent some time rolling around on the ground. He flicks their light off, the way they were ordered to do on their way out of the cafeteria, and both he and Zayn fall into their beds in silence after stripping out of their clothes.

Zayn rolls over to face the wall, assuming that's it for the night. Niall's never been in trouble here before. He has no idea what it's like.

"So that was pretty fucking  _awesome_ ," Niall says loudly, and then he's laughing and Zayn's rolling over to join him, and they both lay like that, laughing until they're breathless and someone pounds on their door to shut them off.

"That no dessert rule seriously sucks, though," he adds afterwards.

Zayn shrugs. "They'll revoke it once they think we've had enough. This isn't the first time we've all fucked up, and it won't be the last. It's best like this, though, when there's too many of us to punish. Like, if it had just been you, me and Louis, we would be in a world of shit over that. But since it was practically half the school, their hands are tied. They can't give individual punishment to thirty students."

In the darkness, he can see Niall's dirty little blonde head nodding. "So," he says slowly, "I noticed that you ran off with Liam. Did you two stick together the whole night?"

Zayn covers his head with his extra pillow. "Goodnight, Niall."

"Ah, come on!" Niall protests. "Give me something, here." Zayn picks up his shoe from under his bed and throws it in Niall's direction. "I meant details, not a fucking concussion."

Zayn throws his other shoe. Niall stops asking.

—

Harry practically throws himself into the seat next to Zayn in Math. The chair groans and slides backwards, legs squealing against the linoleum. Several people look up and glare at Harry for it, but Harry simply grins and shrugs, as if to say, "What can you do?"

"Hey," Zayn says before returning to the sheet of paper in front of him. He's trying to figure out how he's supposed to bullshit five thousand words of an apology, but it's not like he has a choice.

A slip of paper is dropped in front of him. He looks up at Harry with a question on his face. "It's Liam's number," Harry explains. "Don't text him between six and ten at night unless he texts you first. And don't ask me why. I've questioned him about it a hundred times and he just claims that his dad doesn't know about the phone and he doesn't want him to find out about it."

Zayn carefully folds the paper and pockets it, double checking to make sure that it won't somehow fall out of his pocket before he can get back to his room and program it into his phone. "Thanks," he adds.

Harry shrugs. "No problem. Liam texted me about thirty times last night reminding me to give it to you, so…" he trails off with a smile that slowly slips away. Gone is the bubbly, cheerful-looking Harry with the smile and the slightly insane look in his face. Those eyes suddenly look more focused than Zayn's ever seen them, and that threatening look on his face is one Zayn's never witnessed before. "I don't know if this is just a friendly thing, or if it's something more, but don't fuck with him. I can count the amount of people I seriously care about on my left hand, and I get protective over those people. So if you're going to do anything to hurt him, I suggest you think twice about it because it won't be Liam you'll have to deal with, okay? It'll be me."

Zayn blinks rapidly, flooded with surprise. That part of him that feels the need to argue with everything starts up again, but he likes Harry. And, more importantly, Liam likes Harry, which means that getting on Harry's bad side could, in turn, get him on Liam's bad side. Plus, he has no idea what he's doing with Liam, but he knows that hurting him is probably the last thing he's going to do. Not that he knows why that is.

"I'll keep that in mind," Zayn promises.

"Good," Harry says. It's like flicking a switch, the way he goes back to that bubbly, cheerful guy. He pulls out his headphones and passes Zayn one. "Here. There's thing song I wanted you to hear. It's great. Liam thinks it's shit, but Liam also once argued that Kurt Cobain wasn't a genius which is, like, fucking blasphemous. I love the guy, but his taste in music is questionable."

"Styles! What did I say about the damned iPod?" their teacher demands, saving Zayn from having to politely decline.

Harry rolls his eyes but puts the iPod away with a nearly sincere, "Sorry, sir."

Zayn counts down the minutes to the end of class and the bell for lunch, because as soon as it rings, he's out of his seat and heading for his room to get his phone. He debates sending a text right away, but instead he programs Liam's number and sticks in his pocket. He doesn't want to seem desperate. He  _isn't_  desperate, thanks.

He gets all the way to the cafeteria before he caves and decides that, actually, he is desperate. Apparently. Liam does something to his head, and he can't stop it. And he doesn't really want to, either.

"Who are you texting?" Louis wants to know.

"Probably Liam," Harry offers. "I gave him the number in Math."

Zayn looks up at him, mouth hanging open unflatteringly. Since when does Harry sit with them? This is news to him, but the rest of the table is sitting comfortable, as if this is something that happens every day.

"Liam?" Josh asks. "Why are you texting Liam?"

"Yeah, Zayn," Niall teases. "Why are you texting Liam?"

"No, seriously. Why are you texting Liam?" Louis puts in.

Zayn looks down at his phone, and the words he's already typed.  _Hey, Harry gave me your number. Thought I'd_  and wonders the same thing. "None of your fucking business," he says instead of admitting that he really has no idea what he's doing. "Nosey fucks." He finishes the text and pockets his phone. "You can all stop staring at me now."

Niall smirks knowingly, but Louis looks lost. "Wait." He drags the word out and tilts his head, as if looking at Zayn from another angle will help him figure it out. "You  _like_  him, don't you?"

"Fuck off," Zayn simply says.

"You do," Louis insists. "Doesn't he?" he asks Josh and Niall. "He fucking does. This is brilliant."

"Why is this brilliant?" Harry asks.

"Because Zayn doesn't like  _anyone_ ," Louis explains. "He barely even tolerates me, and I'm him best friend."

Zayn frowns at him. "That's not true. I more than tolerate you. Sometimes," he argues.

"You're a frosty little bitch," Louis corrects. "It's cool. So am I. That's why we get along."

Zayn doesn't get a change to reply to that. His phone buzzes in his pocket and he fumbles trying to pull it out to fast. He nearly drops it before he manages to open up the text, and he doesn't even notice the smile on his face until he's done reading the short  _I wasn't sure if you would — Liam_

_Why not?_  Zayn sends back. When he looks up, four sets of eyes are watching him closely. He sits a little straighter. "Stop looking at me like that," Zayn orders.

_Because you're a little hard to read I guess :P_ —  _Liam,_  he gets less than a minute later.

_I can't tell if that's a good thing or a bad one. What are you doing Friday?_

_Whatever you're doing, maybe — Liam_

Zayn's phone is tugged out of his hands, and Harry looks down at the screen before asking, "Are you  _flirting_  with him?"

"Give me that," Zayn snaps, reaching for the phone. Louis gets it before Harry can, and Zayn leans back in his seat, resigned. He knows he's not getting it back now.

" _What are you doing Friday, Liam?_ " Louis mocks. " _I want to wax poetically about your face and make love to you under the starlight._ "

Zayn raises his eyebrows and pointedly looks at Harry before saying, "Soul mates. Field sex. Need I say more?" Louis throws him the phone like it's a bomb set to explode.

Zayn is man enough to admit that he spends all of lunch ignoring his plate of food and either texting Liam, reading texts back from Liam, or waiting impatiently for a new one to come in. So fucking what? Big deal. People get — crushes or whatever all the time. It's no one else's business, okay?

And if he spends the rest of the day texting Liam with a dopey smile on his face, that's no one else's business, either.

—

Possibly the worst thing about the strict punishment that's been enforced since the night they all got caught breaking out is the extra supervision in the dorms. Zayn's waited up every night, trying to get out of his room and out to his bench, but he can't. Someone is  _always_  watching  _both_  doors, and it's impossible to get out. That leaves him irritated and tired. He can't sleep right in his too warm dorm room with the thick curtains pulled over the window, blocking out the natural light from the stars.

By Friday, everyone is in a bad mood. The early curfew, the long detention, the lack of sweets, it's getting to them all. And when he and Louis and Niall and Harry go outside to wait for the bus with Josh, it only gets worse.

"I'm not allowed to let anyone on this list on the bus," Mr. Valcourt regretfully informs them. "Josh, you're free to go. The rest of you, back inside. You've got detention in a few hours."

Zayn shakes his head slowly. "No, no that wasn't— Burns never said that!"

"Mr.  _Cartwright_ ," Valcourt corrects, "was very adamant about everyone on this list staying at the academy, even during day trips. I'm sorry, boys. My hands are tied here. I can't let you in the bus."

"Let it go," Louis says under his breath. He's got a firm arm around Zayn's forearm, but Zayn jerks out of his grip.

"I have  _plans_ ," Zayn hisses. "You can't do this!"

"Zayn, I suggest you follow Mr. Tomlinson back into the building, or someone can be appointed to escort you back to your room," Valcourt warns.

Zayn sneers at him and turns around abruptly. He pushes through the front doors with too much force, and there's a loud bang as the knobs slam against the wall on either side of them. Zayn doesn't care. The only thing he hates more than being told what to do is being told what he  _can't_  do. And he really does have plans. Plans with Liam. Plans that involved just the two of them, and a movie, maybe, or dinner. Or  _something._ And now Liam's going to be waiting for him at the mall, and Zayn's going to be stuck here in detention.

Fuck.

He lights up his cigarette just outside the back doors. He doesn't care if a teacher of staff member finds him; what are they going to do? The only thing left, really, is telling his parents, and he could not give less of a shit if they did.

He doesn't notice Harry until he's on his bench and Harry's sitting on the other end. "You know what my nana always says?" he asks. Zayn levels him with a look that probably screams  _fuck off_. "She says that you shouldn't get upset over the things you can't change. Only the things that you  _can_  change are worth your anger. The world is full of things you can't change, and if you let each of them get to you, you'll go insane."

A fog of smoke separates the two of them for a moment. Harry waves a hand to get it away from him so he can give Zayn an expectant look.

"Why are you even here?" Zayn demands. "You're far too fucking Zen for this place."

Harry laughs. "You really want to know?" he asks. Zayn nods. "I haven't really told anyone, but not many people have asked. And, to be honest with you, I'm only here because the science program in this school is the best in the country, and a recommendation from the teacher here can get me into any University that I want. So my parents pulled some strings, donated a good amount of money, and they let me attend even though I'm not really an at risk teen."

Honestly, Zayn's not even surprised at this point. "Huh."

"Yep."

"So you're not really a—"

"Psycho who killed my family dog?" Harry suggests. "Or a bank robber? Or delinquent who's been in and out of juvenile detention centers since I was nine? Yeah, I've heard the rumours, and sadly they're all just that. I am a serious science nerd, though. Been called a prodigy and everything."

Harry stands up and pats Zayn on the shoulder. "Anyways, you should probably text Liam."

"And what?" Zayn says, all the bitter anger that had somehow seeped out of him during his conversation coming back full force. "Tell him that I can't come meet him because the school has us on lockdown, and will probably stay that way for at least another month?"

"Or," Harry says, "tell him to pick you up at six."

"I'll be in detention at six," Zayn reminds him. "Along with you and Lou and Niall."

Harry grins at him. "I might not be in this place for a reason, like the rest of you, but that doesn't mean I'm not just as good, if not better, at breaking the rules. Just tell him you'll meet him at our spot at half-past six. He'll know what I'm talking about, and I'll talk you through it."

He walks away, leaving Zayn to watch after him, dumbfounded. And maybe he's regretting not befriending Harry years ago, because this kid may just turn out to be useful.

—

He's sitting in detention in the cafeteria just after dinner. Everyone is separated into different tables, and they're all forced to sit there, doing absolutely nothing except homework (if they've got it, if not they've got to stare at the walls and hope to not go crazy before the two hours are up) when a balled up piece of paper lands in front of him. He looks down at it before checking to make sure that one of the many teachers situated around the room aren't looking. When he's sure he won't get caught, he unfolds it.

It's a bunch of instructions.

Start coughing until one of the teachers approaches you.

Play it up. Ask to go lay down in your room. Most likely, they'll let you go. Someone might escort you up to your room. If that happen, just go along with it and wait until they're gone to follow through with part 3.

Sneak out. This should be simple. Keep your head down so no one recognizes you, and calmly exit through the back door. There are students outside on the grounds. Pretend to be hanging out with them if anyone spots you.

Get to the woods left of the gymnasium. Continue east until you get to the fence. Walk along the fence, going left, until you find the small break. Get off the property.

Liam will be waiting for you not far from there. He drives a red Honda. You won't miss it.

Get me some McDonalds. Big Mac with a chicken caesar salad. (this isn't part of the plan. I just like salad : D )

I'll text you how to get back in. Have fun. Be nice.

Zayn looks around the room until he spots Harry, four tables down. Harry lifts a fist to his mouth and pointedly coughs. Zayn nods and folds up the paper.

Twenty minutes later, he's somehow safely inside Liam's car. It's a really shitty car, but it works and that's what counts. And it's surprisingly clean. Zayn's seen his fair share of cars belonging to teenage boys, and there's a serious lack of empty fast food containers, or candy bar wrappers, or empty Coke cans. In fact, it's nearly spotless, and it smells like apples, courtesy of the air-freshener dangling from the rear-view mirror.

"Why do I feel like I'm aiding a fugitive?" Liam asks as they drive.

Zayn bares his teeth at him. "Probably because you are, for all intents and purposes."

"I'm surprisingly okay with that," Liam tells him.

There's this weird, unexpected bundle of nerves in Zayn's stomach. This should be known: Zayn doesn't get nervous. He doesn't. Not when he was eleven and he tried out for the school talent show. Not when he had to recite that poem he wrote to the whole class. Not when he went for his driver's licence, or on his first date, or lost his virginity. But fuck if he isn't nervous right now.

"So is this a date?" Liam asks boldly when they turn onto the road that leads into town. He pulls his eyes off the road to check Zayn's reaction to that and adds, "I mean, we're alone. It's just us two. Is it a date?"

It's nice to know that Liam is just as nervous, if not more so, as he is. "Do you want it to be?"

Liam shrugs, blushes, stares out the window. "I don't want to answer that question until you tell me if it is or not."

Zayn looks out the window to hide his amused smile. "Are we going to get something to eat?" he inquires.

"Probably," Liam admits.

"Are we going to catch a movie afterwards?"

"Sure, depending on what time you want to get back at."

Zayn shrugs. "Then it's a date."

"Oh, okay," Liam says before biting down hard on his bottom lip. That does nothing to disguise to giddy smile on his face, but Zayn pretends that he doesn't see.

A heavy silence falls over them. It's already starting to get dark, and the streetlamps brighten their path. Liam is darting glances at Zayn every couple seconds, and Zayn's staring resolutely out the window, pretending that he doesn't notice. Except he does notice. He notices every shift in Liam's body and every sharp inhale and drawn-out exhale. He notices the way Liam tilts to the left every time he turns that way, like moving his body will guide the car.

"Can I smoke in here?" Zayn asks abruptly, already patting down his jeans to remember which pocket he'd stuck his pack in.

Liam hesitates for only a second, but he eventually says, "Might as well. The guy I bought this from smoked, and it's not like I'm ever getting the smell out. Just crack a window, though."

Zayn nods and does just that. The cool air that filters in through the window soothes his too warm skin. His body feels tight and agitated, and there's only one explanation for why, and that explanation is flicking on his turn signal and tilting just a bit to the right as he turns onto a familiar street.

"We don't have to eat out," Liam muses as they drive down the main street.

Zayn grins, teeth bared. "I love to eat out, though." He licks his lips for emphasis, tongue dragging out longer than necessary.

Liam doesn't miss it. He blushes (of course) and blinks rapidly. "I— um— I just meant that we could always pick something up and eat it at my place instead."

Zayn drops his hand onto Liam's legs. He lets his fingers dance over it, slowly moving them upwards. Liam shifts a bit, brushes Zayn's hand away, and he glares out the window while still blushing that deep, lovely reddish pink.

Really, Zayn's not this much of an ass. It's just that Liam sort of— he fucks with Zayn's head, and it's sort of nice to get back at him for it. That, and he really likes when Liam blushes. It makes him wonder if all of Liam's skin colours that easily. If he could suck light little marks onto the inside of his thighs and they'd stay there for days, for no one but Liam to see and remember exactly who put them there.

"Sure," Zayn says with a shrug. "I'd love to go back to yours."

Without warning, Liam turns into a parking spot and shuts off the car. Instead of getting out, he breathes heavily and stares steadily out the window, fingers tight around the steering wheel. "Don't do that," he says quietly. "Okay?"

Zayn flicks his ash out the window. "Don't do what?"

"Don't— you  _know_  what I'm talking about. Don't turn everything into a suggestive remark. Don't twist this so it's something dirty when it's  _not_ , okay?"

For some reason, Zayn's breath comes in shaky. He lets it out slowly and nods, taken aback by the ferocity in Liam's tone and the angry set to his shoulders. He didn't think Liam had it in him, that sudden burst of anger and sharpness. It's surprising. And sort of really, really fucking hot.

"Okay," Zayn agrees.

"Thank you," Liam says. He starts up the car and pulls out of the parking spot. "Maybe we should do something other than dinner and a movie," he says as he drives. "Would that be okay with you?"

—

Twenty minutes later, they're driving through a small, cozy neighbourhood with a bag of greasy, disgusting, cheap,  _delicious_  food, courtesy of the McDonalds downtown. "That's where Harry used to live," Liam says, pointing out a small house with a red front door and a garden that hasn't been attended to enough. "Until his dad got promoted. Now they own a huge house on the other side of the city, as well as a flat in London and a small cottage in Holland for holidays."

Zayn makes an appreciative sound. "Nice."

Liam grins. "His parents really are. I don't think two people deserved it more, you know? His dad works really hard."

Zayn nods, though he doesn't really know. His own father has been the head of his company for years, but that's only because he'd inherited it from  _his_  dad. There was no working up to the position. He'd been straight out of University and he'd gotten a job instantly, and then years later he'd been appointed head of the company. He doesn't know  _exactly_  what his father does, but he's pretty sure it mostly involves telling other people to do stuff.

"Shit," Liam says as he slows a bit in front of another house with a shiny silver car in the driveway. "My dad's not supposed to be home. He's not really fond of me having friends over."

Zayn shrugs. "It's cool. We can just eat in the car and catch a movie or something afterwards, if you want."

Liam shakes his head. "No, I've got an idea." This idea apparently involves parking in front of a random house at the other end of the street. Liam grabs the bags from the back and hands Zayn the drinks, and then he grins, face illuminated by the streetlamp above. "Come on," he whispers, ducking into a random backyard.

Zayn pauses, a frown on his face. He's pretty sure that this isn't Liam's house, because the one they'd driven by, the one with Liam's dad's car in the lot, is next door. He follows a second later anyways.

The backyard is spacious. There's a tree at the far left corner, one with a huge, elaborate tree house, the kind that Zayn would have loved back when he was younger. There's a ladder built into the tree, and Liam goes straight for it.

"Here, trade me," he whispers, holding out the bag of food. "I've done this a hundred times, I can do it with the drinks."

Zayn hands the tray of drinks over and takes the bag, and then Liam's somehow balancing the drinks and climbing up the ladder. Zayn stays at the bottom, lip caught between his teeth.

"Are you coming up?" Liam asks from the tree house. He's leaning precariously over the edge, and something in Zayn twists.

"I'm kind of afraid of heights," Zayn admits, whispering too because Liam is.

"I'm kind of afraid of my neighbours seeing you in their yard and calling the cops."

Zayn whirls around, eying the house. Almost all the lights are off, except in what looks to be the kitchen, if that's the corner of a stainless steel fridge that he can see peeking through the curtainless window. If someone calls the police and they pick him up, he's going to be in so much shit.

That's the only reason why he holds the bag in his teeth and climbs up. Wood splinters dig into his fingers and his heart sinks into his stomach when he looks down. He wasn't kidding. He may have under exaggerated, though. He's possibly terrified of heights. Like, extremely. And he can't be more than double his height off the ground, but that's enough to scare him shitless.

A hand overlaps one of his own. He blinks open his eyes and finds Liam looking down at him, a soft expression on his face "You're almost at the top," he urges. "You can do it."

It's not the encouraging words that spur him forward; it's the fact that Liam can do this, so Zayn can. He's not so pathetic that he can't climb a fucking tree. Hell, kids get into tree forts all the time, right? If ten year olds are capable of doing it, Zayn is capable of doing it.

As soon as he's in the open doorway of the tree house, he grabs Liam by the back of the shirt and tugs him away from the edge.

It's not all that big inside. It's about the size of his dorm room, if you cut it in half. There's a lumpy old chair in the corner (how did they even get that up here?) as well as a sleeping bag on the floor, and an old, battered punching bag hanging from the ceiling in the right corner. There's also a small, portable lamp on the floor, casting the whole room in a soft, warm glow.

"Do you mind explaining to me why we just snuck into your neighbours tree house?" Zayn asks.

Liam's sitting on the sleeping bag, pulling out their food. He hands Zayn a paper wrapped burger and shrugs his shoulders. "When I grew up, my best friend Andy lived here," he begins to explain. "His dad was really cool. When we were about eight years old, he started building this thing with us. Let Andy and I decide how we wanted it to look and what colour we wanted to paint it. It took almost two years to build it, and then the summer that it was finished, Andy moved away."

There's a far away look in Liam's eyes, the kind someone only gets when they're remembering one of their fondest memories. "Who lives here now?" Zayn asks.

"The Morgan's," Liam answers. "They're nice, but they're really old. They were going to tear this thing down, but I begged them not to. I'm surprised they haven't, now that I'm older, but I'm glad they didn't. I love this place."

Zayn nods and unwraps his burger. He takes a bite while looking around again. There's a few more personal items. There's a handful of posters on the wall: a Batman one, one of Jessica Alba in a bikini, a Halo one. There's also a few empty coke cans, one empty beer can, and— "Do you sleep here?" Zayn asks, gesturing to the pillow.

"Not in years," Liam says with his mouth full. "I used to, when I was, like, thirteen and my parents were fighting."

"But you don't any more."

Liam shrugs again. "My dad knows I used to sneak up here, so it's not a secret anymore." A swift grin. "I have places all over this city, though."

"Like the gym at the school," Zayn guesses.

"That's one of them," Liam admits. "I can't tell you them all, though."

"Right, because then they wouldn't be secrets." Zayn rolls his eyes and takes another bite of his burger. "Why do you sneak out, though?"

Liam chews silently for a few minutes, and Zayn takes that to mean that it's just another secret that Liam's not going to share with him. And that irks him to no end, it really does, but he's not going to push it. If Liam doesn't want to tell him, fine.

"What about the punching bag?" Zayn questions. "Or is that another thing you won't tell me?"

Liam balls up the wrapper from his burger and stands, brushing off his hands as he goes. "I take boxing," Liam answers. "Have for years. I can't keep this thing in the house, so instead I brought it up here." He approaches the punching bag and gently shoves it so it sways on it's hanger, and then, so quickly that if he'd blinked Zayn would have missed it, he punches it. Once, twice— three, four times in quick succession. "It's very calming," Liam says when he's done.

Zayn laughs and stands up, too. "I agree," he says. "Except, you know, I prefer people over punching bags."

Liam frowns at him. "I don't like violence."

Zayn snorts. "You just said you take a boxing class."

"Yeah, because it's controlled and it's more about fitness and mind than beating the shit out of your partner," Liam argues. "We don't ever spar to the point of someone leaving with bruises, or a busted lip."

"Huh," Zayn says. He lets his eyes slowly move over Liam's shoulders, and his biceps, and then down to his toned thighs. "Is that why you're so fit?"

Liam straightens the punching bag so it's no longer swaying, and then he goes back to sitting on the sleeping bag. He gestures for Zayn to take the chair in the corner, but instead he sinks down to the ground next to Liam, so close that their sides are pressed together.

"This place is kind of cool," Zayn admits softly. "If you can ignore the fact that we're, like, twenty feet off the ground and we could go plummeting to the ground at any second."

"You're a glass half empty, aren't you?" Liam teases.

"Don't mock me," Zayn says, feigning offence. "I told you I'm afraid of heights."

Liam cocks an eyebrow. "You look like you're not afraid of anything."

Zayn makes a sound of disagreement. "That's not true," he says. "I'm afraid of a lot of things."

"Like what?"

"Like — people wearing animal masks. That scares the shit out of me."

A loud laugh bursts from Liam, and then he's covering his mouth to hide it, his eyes wet and wide. "I'm sorry," he gasps. "That's not funny, I shouldn't laugh at that."

"What about you?" Zayn challenges. "What are you afraid of?"

Liam contemplates this for a moment. "Thunderstorms," he says finally. "I'm terrified of them, actually. Logically I know that I'm not going to get struck by lightening or something, and thunder can't actually hurt you, but — it's irrational. I mean, I can't help it."

"I don't like ladybugs."

"What's wrong with ladybugs?"

"They look like mini alien spaceships. Who knows if they even _are_  bugs?"

"That's ridiculous."

"You're afraid of thunderstorms," Zayn reminds Liam.

"Touché."

Zayn learns a collection of things about Liam in that little tree house. When Liam laughs, his eyes get all crinkly at the sides, but when he finds something  _really_  funny, he squeezes his eyes all the way closed. He picks the pickles off his burgers and eats them first. He cringes at the sound of the straw rubbing against the plastic lid of his drink. He blushes whenever Zayn says anything remotely rude or suggestive, even if he ends up laughing at it. He says 'I mean' a lot. He's able to sit weirdly still, in a way that Zayn's never been able to (Zayn's a fidgetter, Liam's a statue).

And maybe he's not the sweet, innocent boy that he appears to be sometimes, because as soon as they're done eating, and they've tossed all their wrappers in the empty bag, he digs into his back pocket and pulls out a fat joint that has Zayn gaping at him.

"We don't have to," Liam says quickly. "A friend from school gave it to me the other day, and Harry refuses to smoke ever, so I just thought maybe you'd want to. But it's cool if you don't. Like, I mean, I don't even smoke all that much anyways. Just—"

Zayn pulls out his lighter and tugs the joint from Liam's fingers, lighting it with one smooth flick of the lighter. It takes no time for the tree house to be filled with bitter smelling smoke. It fills Zayn's lungs and makes him light-headed.

Without stopping to think, he shifts a bit so he's no longer sitting beside Liam. He's got the joint dangling from his lips as he arranges himself so he and Liam are sitting across from each other, both with their legs crossed, knees touching. "Have you ever tried shotgunning?" he asks.

Zayn can see the way Liam's eyes drop to his lips, and he turns them up into a smile in response. "No," Liam says softly. "But I'd…. Um, I'd like to."

"Lean forward, then," Zayn instructs. Liam obeys. "You know the gist of what I'm going to do, yeah?"

Another look at Zayn's lips. "Yeah."

Zayn takes a hit off the joint and, moving quickly, surges forward until his mouth is flush against Liam's. He opens his own lips, parting Liam's with them, and then he's blowing the smoke into Liam's mouth and pulling back. Liam's eyes are closed as he blows the smoke back out. When he opens them, they're a little bloodshot and they're headily lidded and dazed. The taste of the smoke lingers in Zayn's mouth, and he wonders if it is stronger in Liam's.

Zayn gives up any pretence of purpose and presses his lips against Liam's again. The joint is almost burnt down to his fingers, and he can feel the heat of the cherry burning too close to his skin, but he doesn't care. Not after that delicious, surprised sound Liam made before he moved into the kiss, lips slotting perfectly against Zayn's, a hand moving to cup the back of Zayn's neck.

Liam's other hand is resting on his thigh now, balancing him so he can lean over Zayn a bit. And Zayn wants to keep kissing him. He wants to lick into Liam's mouth and see if he's as shy with this as he is with everything, or if he can get vocal and needy and desperate. But his fingers are seconds away from being singed, and he's not sure if a little joint could set this whole thing ablaze, but he's currently sitting in a building made of wood on top of a tree, and he sort of doesn't want to test it.

"Liam," Zayn tries, but Liam just kisses him more insistently. "This joint is singeing my fingers."

Liam pulls back abruptly. "Shit," he says, and Zayn is, like, 90% sure that's the first time he's heard Liam swear. "Just— toss it out the door. The grass is wet. It'll go out."

Fuck if Zayn is going to argue with a thing Liam says when his lips are red and slick like that. He leans over and flicks the end of the joint out the door and then Liam's kissing him again.

Liam's heavy. This is something he should have realized, given the fact that Liam's all muscular and wide shouldered and what not, but for some reason he hadn't really put those pieces together. Not until Liam's leaning on him, guiding him down against the wooden floor of the tree house and then putting half his weight on Zayn.

"Is this okay?" Liam mumbles against his lips, his eyelashes nearly sweeping against Zayn's cheek.

"Yep," Zayn says tightly, because it  _is_ , if Liam would just shift a little and—

"I'm really high," Liam admits with a giggle, and his lips are now at Zayn's cheek, moving to his jaw and then his neck, and Zayn's actually really high, too, and he can't  _think_  because Liam's — "and you scare me. Remember— remember earlier how we were talking about what scares us? You scare me. You're gorgeous and you say these things and you're sort of like that Taylor Swift song, I Knew You Were—"

" _Liam_ ," Zayn groans, squeezing his eyes tightly closed.

He doesn't want to  _scare_  Liam. Fuck, he just wants Liam to  _stop talking_. He feels warm and light and it's starting to rain outside, the quiet sound of water splattering against the roof echoing through the room, and he shouldn't have done this. Shouldn't have come up here with Liam. Shouldn't have smoked with him. Shouldn't have snuck out, either. Or even spoken to Liam in the first place because, actually, Liam scares him, too. Scares him a hell of a lot and he doesn't even know why except maybe it's something to do with that soft look in Liam's eyes that he gets when he finally opens his own again.

"Kiss me," Zayn gasps out. Kissing — kissing is easy. Touching. Feeling another person. It's thinking that's hard. Feeling more than the physical. "Stop talking and just kiss me, okay?"

Liam nods once, a quick jerk of his head before he leans in again. This time, there's no words. This time it's only Liam's lips and breath against Zayn's skin. And those lips are so soft that Zayn can't resist biting down on the bottom one, gently nipping at it.

Zayn's mind flickers back to what Liam said in the car about not making this dirty, because it's not. And even now, with Liam straddling him and his hands palming at Liam's ass and his tongue pushing insistently into Liam's mouth, chasing the taste of weed and the Coke they'd had to drink, he has to agree that it's  _not_  dirty. There's something in the soft glide of Liam's hand up his side, over his rib cage; in the slow warmth of the smoke that makes his head swim; in the soft sighs that slip through Liam's lips every once in a while, and the rain falling outside of their own little world that feels almost peaceful and  _right_.

Of course, Zayn is the one who ruins it. He drags his nails down Liam's back, trying to pull them tighter together, and Liam jerks back, letting out a yelp of pain and rolling off Zayn instantly.

Zayn sits up, pushing any stray strands of hair off his forehead while trying not to fuck up his quiff any more than Liam's fingers already have. "I'm sorry," he says quietly. "If I hurt you, or—"

"You didn't," Liam says quickly. He stands up, shaking his head fiercely, and almost backs himself up into the nearest corner. "You didn't. Just… maybe that was a bit fast. Too fast, yeah? I mean, I don't usually do that. Not— not when I hardly know you and…" Liam trails off with a wave of his hand.

"I'm sorry," Zayn repeats.

"Don't be," Liam says. "Please." There's a tightness to the smile that spreads onto Liam's face, but Zayn doesn't mention that he notices it. "I should get you back soon, though. It's probably late."

Zayn nods in resignation and texts Harry to let him know that he'll be on his way back soon.

There's a moment of terror once they've hit the ground at the bottom of the tree and a light inside the house flicks on. Zayn freezes, and Liam's eyes go panicky-wide in the dim light coming from it, and then they both run because it's the only logical thing they do.

When Zayn get to Liam's car, he collapses in the passenger seat, out of breath. As soon as he catches it, a laugh bubbles out of him, and then another, and another, and suddenly he's gripping Liam's shoulder and leaning into his chest and laughing like they don't have a care in the world.

"I— should be the bad influence— on you," Zayn gets out once he's reluctantly leaned back into his own seat and stopped the giggling.

Liam winces sheepishly. "Honestly, I'd argue that I am, most of the time. You bring out the wild side in me, Zayn. Apparently."

Zayn sinks at him before they both erupt into giggles again. A light comes on to their left, and then another, and Liam pushes the key into the ignition and quickly pulls away from the curb before one of his neighbours comes outside and yells at them.

"Are you sure you'll be okay to walk back in the dark like this?" Liam asks when they get to the spot that he'd first met Liam tonight.

Zayn shrugs. "Why wouldn't I be?"

Liam bites his lip before saying, "Message me when you get back to your dorm, at least. Just so I know you made it okay."

Zayn rolls his eyes, but he says, "Sure. If it'll make you feel better."

"It will," Liam says with conviction.

"Goodnight, Liam."

The shitty little car stays there on the other side of the fence as Zayn makes his way through the small hole and into the forest. He can't see the outline of it anymore, but he can see the headlights shining in the dark almost all the way back to the school.

He texts Harry as soon as the school comes into view. All he gets back is a short text that tells him to wait outside the back doors until he gets the go ahead.

Zayn shuffles his feet in the dirt and warily looks up at the building. It's past curfew now. If someone looks outside, he's fucked. Totally, completely fucked. Before he can start to panic, his phone buzzes with a new text from Harry.

_Coast is clear. Just walk to your dorm and bring me my food._

"Shit," Zayn mumbles to himself. He forgot to pick Harry's stuff up. He'd been too busy wondering what it was, exactly, that he'd done that had made Liam need to get away from him so quickly. He'd never figured it out, though, and now Harry's going to be pissed at him on top of that.

He pulls open the back door and cautiously makes his way inside. He can't hear anyone on the floors above him, but he knows there should be staff members monitoring the floor. Actually, there should be some just outside the door at the top of the landing, but when Zayn carefully pushes it open, there's no one there. In fact, he literally strolls down the hall and into his room without seeing a single person.

It's got to be at least ten, but Niall's still fully awake, sitting up in his bed with an expectant look. Zayn tries not to look too annoyed at that as he pulls out his phone and sends Harry a text that says  _I'm in my room, forgot your stuff. I'll make it up to you, I promise._

"So?" Niall demands. "What happened?"

Zayn glares at him. "None of your business."

"Damn," Niall mutters. "Someone's in a bad mood. It didn't go well, I take it?"

Honestly — he doesn't know. He can't work it out in his head if tonight was great or horrible. If breaking out to see Liam was a good decision, or a terrible one. If kissing him was a mistake, or if he should just stop worrying so fucking much.

Speaking of Liam. He pulls his phone back out and sends Liam a text, too, letting Liam know that he got back alright and didn't get attacked by a wild animal or a psycho murderer or anything. Afterwards, he tosses his phone onto the bedside table and tugs off his shirt.

"You're not going to tell me anything?" Niall asks. Zayn pulls off his shoe and throws it in Niall's direction. "Again with the shoes? Really?"

—

Monday, after his counselling session, he's heading for the doors to go outside for a smoke when Louis grabs his arm and drags him down the hall and into the bathroom. He's got a bag in his hand, and from it he pulls out a box of hair dye and places it on the edge of one of the many sinks in the bathroom.

"Where did you get that?" Zayn asks him.

Louis shrugs. "I know a guy."

"A guy who smuggles you hair dye."

"Yes," Louis hisses. "Now help me with it, would you?"

Zayn snatches the box off the sink. He turns it over in his hand, raising his eyebrows at the burgundy sort of red colour of the guy on the box's hair. Louis looks so serious when Zayn goes to ask him what the fuck he's thinking, and he decides not to let those words slip out. Instead he looks at the instructions, and then he turns on the tap of the nearest sink and says, "You need to get your hair wet first. And we need a towel."

"Go get the one from my room while I do this," Louis orders.

Ridiculously enough, Zayn does. When he gets back, Louis' hair is dripping onto his shoulders and he's grinning brightly in a way that he only does when he's doing something he knows is probably a terrible idea. That's just how Louis is. Some people break in chaotic situations, while others thrive.

"Stop moving," Zayn grunts as he tries to get as much of the dye from the bottle into Louis' hair. It's creamy between his fingers and the smell of it is burning his nose hairs right off, he's pretty sure.

"I would if it wasn't so  _cold_ ," Louis argues. "And it  _stinks_."

"This was your bright idea," Zayn reminds him.

"I'm aware."

Somehow he manages to get most of the bottle's contents into Louis' hair, and then they're stuck waiting for twenty minutes. Zayn lights up a cigarette right there in the bathroom, and Louis stands guard at the door, scaring away any other students that try to get inside.

"Is there any particular reason for the impromptu hair dying?" Zayn asks after he's flicked his cigarette out the small window just above the sinks.

"Party on Friday," Louis answers. "My piece of shit roommate is sneaking out to see his girlfriend, and he's so paranoid that, to keep me from telling on him, he's offered to sneak us all out, too. She's got a truck or something, and we can all ride into town in the back."

"Do you think that maybe we should, I don't know, stop sneaking out before we get caught and seriously punished?" Zayn wonders.

"Maybe," Louis admits.

They both nod silently for a moment before laughing loudly. "Like that'll ever happen," Zayn wheezes.

"Maybe when Hell freezes over," Louis adds.

"Or when Harry finally realizes you're in love with him," Zayn teases. "Which is just as likely."

"Yeah, as likely as you enjoying feeling actual human emotions," Louis says sharply, playful tone gone.

Zayn takes a surprised step backwards. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Louis looks guilty. "Come on, that joke about Harry was a low blow, okay? He's a sore spot for me. I didn't mean anything by it."

"Clearly you did," Zayn snaps.

Louis rolls his eyes. "Don't be dramatic. You know what you're like. You're — cold. Distant. Whatever. That's just who you are. It's not a  _bad_  thing."

Is that really what Louis thinks of him? Fuck, that's his  _best friend_  and he thinks Zayn's cold. Practically heartless, if you read between the lines. "Right," Zayn says slowly, easily masking the fact that those words  _hurt_. "Your hair needs to be rinsed now."

"Okay," Louis says quietly.

They're quiet as Louis ducks his head under the facet of the sink and clears away the remnants of the dye. Afterwards, Zayn hands him a towel and he dries his hair with it before draping it over his shoulders. His hair is still too damp to really see the colour. It just looks blackish-brown.

Louis leans over the sink and meets Zayn's eyes in the mirror. "You know I didn't mean that you were like that with everyone, right? You're not like that with me. Or with Josh, or Niall. Hell, not even with Harry, and I bet you only tolerate him on the best days."

"Just let it go, Louis," Zayn says. "It's fine."

"No, it's really not." Louis pushes away from the sink and wraps his arms tightly around Zayn. "I love you, you get that, right? Like, more than anyone, except my sisters but, you know, they're my sisters."

"I know," Zayn assures him. He wants Louis' arms off him. He doesn't like how tightly he's being held, the way he feels like he's being suffocated. "It's  _fine_ ," he repeats.

Louis sighs and pulls back. "It's not, but you won't let me fix it anyways." He turns back to the mirror, running a hand through his hair. "Huh. What do you think?"

Zayn comes up behind him, eyebrows raised. "I think it's red."

"Redder than I thought it would be," Louis agrees. "Wow."

It looks good, though. It works with the punk persona that Louis' recently adapted. With the way his chest tattoo sticks out of the top of his unbuttoned shirt, and his tongue stuck out of his mouth to show off his piercing, it sort of matches. "I like it."

"So do I," Louis decides. He smirks at Zayn. "D'you think Harry will?"

"Please tell me you didn't dye your hair to impress a guy."

"I didn't. I did it because  _I wanted to_. But I mean, if it  _does_  impress him, that'd be cool, too." He pokes Zayn's side. "Speaking of impressing boys…"

"Don't," Zayn warns, backing up towards the door. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Or about the fact that you spent all of Math today texting Liam and grinning?" Zayn stares at him, mouth hanging open. "Yeah, Harry told me."

"I don't know why everyone is so obsessed with my damn love life," Zayn grumbles on his way out of the bathroom.

"Because you're the only one who  _has_  one," Louis says, jogging after him. "Apparently. Not that you'll confirm or deny it."

"Leave it alone, Lou," Zayn says.

"You can't keep secrets from me, Malik!" Louis says loudly, falling behind Zayn's quick, long strides. "You know it's true!"

"I can try!" Zayn throws over his shoulder, but he knows that Louis' right. He just doesn't want to talk about it. What's so wrong with that? Can't he just like Liam, or not like him, in private? Can't he just feel whatever he feels without having to talk about it with all his friends? Why does it have to be a big deal? It's  _not_.

Zayn finds himself slamming a hand against the nearest wall when he rounds the corner. He's not stupid enough to punch it and break his fingers, but the open-palm slap leaves his hand stinging, just the way he wants.

He needs another cigarette.

—

Zayn is sitting in the library, reading through his History textbook when his cellphone rings. He jumps and scrambles to pull it out of his pocket before the librarian notices, and he manages to just get it off when she looks over at him.

"iPod," he lies, keeping his phone hidden and lifting the device attached to his headphones up.

"Continue with your work, Zayn," she says patiently, with a knowing look in her eyes. He doesn't have her fooled at all, but she's had a soft spot for him since she'd caught him passed out in the historical fiction section his first year, a book collapsed on his chest and his head falling onto one of the shelves.

_What r u up to?— Liam_

Zayn smiles to himself and discreetly sends back  _homework in the library. You?_  because, while the librarian might be lenient with him, he doesn't want to push his luck.

_Sounds fun :P_ Liam sends back _. Just about home now._

_Are you texting while driving_  Zayn asks before quickly pocketing his phone and checking to make sure that he's not about to get it confiscated. The librarian raises her eyebrows and gestures for him to get back to work, and he does.

Until, you know, Liam texts him back.

_Definitely not zayn. Thats ilegal — Liam_

Zayn shakes his head fondly, but he really doesn't feel like getting extra detention, so he sends,  _I'll text you when I'm in my room. Don't want to get in trouble. Sorry. Xx_

Moments later, he gets back  _Are you ditching me for homework? I'm so offended :P_ and then  _no seriously tho?_ followed by  _I'm sorry I just hate that ur stuck at that school and we hardly see each other :/_ and finally _god I sound needy I'll stop now D:_

Zayn shuts his textbook. He sits there for a moment, trying to convince himself that he's annoyed. It doesn't work.

_See you Friday?_  he sends.

—

They should have befriended Harry years ago. He's extremely handy, when it comes to getting out of the academy. Just before they're set to leave, Harry runs into his and Niall's room, his clothes damp and his hair limp with water.

"I just flooded the bathroom," he explains. "We have about ten minutes to get out before they come and check the dorms."

Zayn and Niall are both out of bed instantly, and then they're sneaking out the staff staircase, along with Louis and Josh (somehow they'd convinced him to come, though Zayn has no idea how) and Louis' roommate, Jordan. (Louis absolutely hates his roommate, but Zayn doesn't think he's all that bad. Then again, he doesn't have to live with the guy, so maybe he has no right to judge.)

"So how long have you been sneaking out of here, exactly?" Louis demands as they make their way towards the hole in the fence.

Harry shrugs. "I don't. Usually I'm sneaking Liam in, not sneaking out. I like it here. I don't see any reason to try to leave, most of the time."

Louis gives Zayn an incredulous look at this, and Zayn just mouths, "Crazy. Told you." Louis flips him off for it.

Just as Louis' roommate has promised, there's a truck waiting for them. Zayn asked Liam to pick him up instead, but Liam's working until nine, and Louis and the others wanted to be out by eight so they could have a few hours of fun before returning back to the dorms by midnight.

"You lot get the back," Jordan says as he pulls open the door to the shiny black truck. It's nice; not at all the rusted, beat up thing he'd pictured.

Zayn spends the ride trying to ignore the way Niall's clutching at his arm and squeezing so hard he's sure to have bruises whenever they hit a bump in the road, and texting Liam with a grin on his face. He knows Liam can't answer, and it's sort of payback for the other day in the library. He gets a text back every couple of minutes, something along the lines of ' _I can't talk rn : (_ 'or ' _I'm not going to sext with you when Im at work zayn honestly_ '.

Zayn is just sending back  _What about when you're not at work? ;)_ when they get into town. Jordan's girlfriend keeps driving until they're in a neighbourhood with huge houses and a scattering of cars parked along the street. She parks not too far from the party; he doesn't need to know the address to know that it's held at the house with the blue shutters and the flashing lights and the music that just barely slips out onto the street, not loud enough to cause the neighbours to call the police.

The back window of the truck cab opens, and a girl with thick brown hair leans out. "These are my friends," she explains. "If you're not nice, or respectful, you can find your own way home. I don't want to be embarrassed. Understood?"

"Understood, babe," Zayn answers before anyone else can.

The girl blinks blue eyes with a thick amount of mascara covering the lashes at him. "It's Allen," she corrects. "Short for Allendria. Not babe."

"Allendria," Zayn repeats, leaning forward a bit. "That's quite the mouthful."

Honestly, Zayn's not sure if it's because he's pretty, or if he was just born to have people fall at his feet (this isn't cockiness, he swears; it's just the truth); he's just always had a way with the opposite sex — and most anyone of the same gender who even remotely swings that way— and Jordan's girlfriend is no exception. "It's a good thing I'm fairly used to having my mouth full, then," she says, and Louis coughs to hide a snort as Jordan peeks his head through the window, eyes narrowed. "I mean, um, just be nice to my friends, please. Okay?"

"Okay," Zayn agrees for all of them.

There's a bit of an incident on the way out of the back of the truck. Harry nearly falls on his face. It's kind of (really) funny, but the second the beginning of a laugh comes out of Zayn and Niall, Louis is glaring at them and warning them to say something as he helps Harry to his feet.

When Harry straightens, Louis isn't the only one glaring at Zayn. "What?" Zayn demands. "What did I do?"

"Maybe it was the flirting with Jordan's girlfriend while he sat beside her," Josh offers. "That could be it."

"That's not it," Harry denies. He still looks peeved, but he doesn't give Zayn an explanation. Not until they're making their way inside the house, and Louis and Josh and Niall are busy talking about something. "It wasn't the shameless flirting that bothered me. It's you shamelessly flirting with other people while you're seeing my best friend that does."

Zayn's lips part in surprise, and he grabs Harry's arm to stop him from following the others, who don't even notice that they're leaving the two of them behind now. "Harry—"

"It's cool," Harry says. "Really. Whatever. Do what you want. Just don't do it while you're with Liam, okay?"

Logically, Zayn should probably be saying something to defend himself right now. Instead he asks, "Did Liam say that? Say that we're together or something? Because you make it sound like I'm his boyfriend." There's a pleased note in his voice that he can't school, despite the fact that those words have a conflicting amount of emotions bubbling up inside. Does he want to be that to someone? To  _Liam_? He honestly doesn't know.

Harry snorts. "Yeah, like he tells me. Won't give me any details at all. All he said is that you two hung out. That's it. I just assumed because it's  _Liam_. He doesn't really do things halfway."

"Oh," Zayn says softly as they resume walking. "But he likes me, right?" Fuck, why does he sound worried about that? He's not. Why would he be?

The smirk that finds its way onto Harry's face at that makes Zayn's eyes narrow. "Maybe," Harry answers, stretching out the 'a'. "Maybe not."

Zayn rolls his eyes with a sigh. "I don't even know why I bothered asking."

Harry bumps their shoulders together. "Of course he likes you. And you like him. Hell, you're blushing right now over the whole thing."

"I'm really not."

"You know, stating something doesn't make it a fact."

Thankfully they're stepping inside the house before Zayn has to respond to that.

The house seems smaller on the inside. There's so much furniture, and moving bodies, and it feels cramped and too hot. The music is pretty low for a party, too, not the pounding bass that thumps through the building like it is at most parties Zayn goes to.

"Let's get a drink," Louis suggests.

Zayn frowns and checks his phone. Liam should be getting off work in half an hour. A half hour is not all that long, Zayn argues with himself. Considering he hasn't seen Liam in a week, half an hour should pass quickly.

It doesn't. Harry is the sloppiest drunk Zayn's ever met, and somehow he's on his ass twenty minutes later after agreeing to do shots with some girl that has blonde hair that Louis' glaring daggers at. Zayn, on the other hand, is too fucking sober for this shit. Not that he drinks all that often. Zayn and alcohol together is like sticking two people who absolutely hate each other in a room; punches will be thrown.

Forty minutes later and Zayn's standing in a corner, watching Niall dance with some girl while Louis sulks and complains to Josh, flipping his phone in his hands. Liam's late. Not ridiculously late, but he's still late.

Finally a text comes in, but it doesn't make Zayn feel any better.

_Have to take an xtra shift for a friend. Can't make it sry : ( maybe next weekend?_

Zayn pushes away from the wall and makes a beeline for Louis and what looks like a cup of Coke that will most likely have equal amounts of vodka or something similar in it. He accidently bumps into some guy's shoulder, and then he's got someone moving into his personal space. Someone with a fat red face and beady brown eyes.

"Watch where the fuck you're going," he says, loud enough that Louis hands his drink off to Josh and carefully moves through the crowd, heading towards.

"I'll go where the fuck I want," Zayn says back. "What's it to you?"

"You made me spill my drink, you little bitch," the guys answers.

Zayn wrinkles his nose. "You might want to shut up unless you want to know what it feels like to have an entire foot up your ass."

"Well, as much fun as  _that_  sounds," Louis says, coming up on his left.

"I've got it, Lou," Zayn says dryly.

"Yeah, he's got it,  _Lou_ ," the other guy puts in.

Louis makes a face at him. "Don't say my name. You don't know me. And now I'm going to take my friend here and be off before he rearranges your already unpleasant face, alright?"

Zayn lets Louis drag him away, but he flips the guy off first. Niall grabs his right arm on the way, and Josh takes up the back until they're through the kitchen, grabbing Harry by the scruff of his shirt, and outside.

"Do you think Jordan's girlfriend will count that as embarrassing her?" Josh asks.

"She better fucking not, Zayn, because I am  _not_  walking home," Louis hisses.

Harry pulls out of Josh's grip and falls into Zayn's arms with wide, unfocused eyes. The kid ways a fucking ton, too, and Zayn nearly falls under his weight, but somehow he manages to keep them both up. "Where'sh Liam?" Harry slurs. "Thought he was—" a loud burp, "— s'pposed to meet us."

Zayn sighs and tries to adjust them so it doesn't feel like Harry's breaking his shoulder. "He had to take another shift at work."

Harry frowns. "No. No, no, no. That's a lie."

"What?"

Harry stumbles backwards, head shaking wildly. "Liam has the closing shift at the grocery store. He locks up. The store closes at nine. There  _isn't_  another shift." His brow furrows even more, and then he rolls his eyes and sighs dramatically. "Oh  _Liam_. He does this. We just havta go get 'im, that's all. Come on."

And then he starts marching purposefully across the lawn, nearly stumbling every second step. "Where are you going?" Zayn calls after him.

"To Liam!" Harry says with a fist pumped in the air.

"Should — should we stop him?" Niall asks.

"I'm inclined to do whatever that crazy little fuck says," Louis answers before jogging after Harry's wobbling figure. "Are the rest of you coming, or would you rather stay here and hang out at this shit hole?"

Zayn shrugs and starts after them.

—

It takes them half an hour (mostly because Louis tries to keep them off the main street in case a police officer finds them and notices that Harry's a little out of it) to make it to Liam's street. Zayn spends most of the walk nervously chewing the inside of his lip, and it's a ragged mess by the time Harry comes to a halt in front of a familiar house. If he looks a bit to the left and then up, he can see the tree house sticking out of the tall tree of the neighbours yard. For a second, he swears he sees movement inside, but it's too dark to really tell.

"He's not here," Harry says, stopping dead at the end of the driveway. "His dad's car is here, but his isn't. Huh."

"Drunk and crazy is not a good combination," Niall whispers in his ear. Zayn doesn't snicker, but he knows that he probably should.

"Maybe you were wrong," Louis says.

Harry nods slowly. "Maybe he— he meant work at the restaurant, not the store. We should text him."

Zayn spies a car at the end of the street. It's under a burnt out street lamp, and he can't see the colour clearly in the dark. "Or maybe we should just leave it," Zayn says quietly. "If he's busy, he's busy. If he's not, he obviously wants to be left alone."

Harry flings a heavy arm over his shoulder. He smells like a fucking brewery; like a mixture of cologne and beer and whatever other, stronger alcohol he'd been passed while they were at the party. "You're so smart,  _Zayn_."

Zayn carefully pushes him away. "Louis' smarter."

"Really?" Harry asks, turning to face Lou.

"Loads smarter," Louis says quickly. "Like, compared to me, Zayn's an idiot. Or, compared to anyone, actually."

Zayn easily shoves Harry off onto Louis, who looks more than pleased to support and entertain his drunk ass. "You guys go back to the party," Zayn says to Joshand Niall. "I've got things to do."

"Like what?" Josh demands. Zayn raises an eyebrow, lips shut tight. "Oh, fine. Whatever. Don't get arrested. Be back in time to get a ride home."

"Sure," Zayn replies.

Once he's gone, Niall grabs his bicep tightly and looks him in the eyes, the streetlamp above reflecting off his own blue ones. "You know where he is, then?" He doesn't wait for Zayn to answer. "Just be back by roll call at lunch tomorrow. I've got you covered 'til then, okay?"

Zayn nods. "You got any money on you I could borrow?"

"No."

"I keep all my money in between the books of my Lord of the Rings boxset. You can take back whatever I owe you when you get back to the dorms," he bargains.

Niall pulls out a twenty. "Later, Zayn." He starts after the others, while Zayn heads in the opposite direction. He'd passed a corner store with Liam the other day, and it doesn't take him long to find it. Thankfully it's still open, too, but only for another twenty minutes.

He's not exactly sure what to get, so he grabs a few bottles of Coke, one bottle of water (Liam just looks like he drinks water, okay?) and a couple bags of crisps as well as a few candy bars before heading back to Liam's street and ducking into his neighbours backyard.

Just like the first time, Zayn stares up at the tall tree for a moment before grabbing on of the rungs of the ladder with shaking hands. Halfway up, he does that stupid thing where he looks down even though he knows he shouldn't look down, and his stomach swoops and his fingers suddenly feel slick with sweat and his grip on the ladder loosens before he takes a deep breath and continues upward.

"Shouldn't have brought you here," Liam says when he gets to the top. "There's a reason Harry's never been up here. If you tell everyone your secrets, they won't be secrets when you need them to be."

Zayn drops his bag onto the floor and asks, "Why isn't the light on?" He can only sort of see Liam's figure on the ground, where the sleeping bag had been last time. He tries to remember exactly where the lamp was, but he can't.

"Because."

Searching around with his hand, he manages to find the beat up old chair, and he sinks down onto it. "You know, I hate answers that aren't really answers."

"What else?" Liam asks. For the first time, Zayn notices the thickness in his voice, and he realizes that Liam may or may not be crying.

"What do you mean what else?" he asks instead of acknowledging this out loud.

"What else do you hate?" Liam wonders. "I hate snow."

Of all the things Liam could have asked. But Zayn entertains the question anyways. "I hate people who look at me when I'm smoking or something and say 'Those'll kill you, you know!' Like, actually, I do, thanks. Fuck off."

Liam snorts a laugh. "I bet you actually say that to them, too."

"Maybe," Zayn admits. "I hate when people tell me what to do."

"I hate that the word knife has a 'k' in it," Liam offers.

Now Zayn's the one letting out a laugh. "I hate milk in my coffee. And that your success in life all depends on how well you can kiss everyone else's asses. And cats."

"You hate cats?"

"I really hate cats. Like, a lot."

Liam laughs softly again, and then he says, as the wind blows loudly outside, almost drowning out his words, "I hate my dad."

It's quiet in the tree house after that for a long time. "That's a pretty harsh statement," Zayn says carefully.

"Yeah," Liam agrees. "Yeah, it is."

Zayn slips off the chair and onto the floor, crawling around on his hands and knees until he knocks the lamp over. He straightens it and then looks in the general direction of the lump that is Liam. "Can I turn this on?"

"I'd rather you not," Liam replies.

Zayn flicks on the light. "Told you I don't like being told what to —" the words die in his throat.

Liam sits up, balancing himself on the palms of his hands. The lamp in the room is shit, and the light of it is only a soft glow, but it's enough. Enough to clearly see the way Liam's lip is split. The handprint shaped red mark on his cheek. The fact that his right eye in swollen almost all the way closed, and there's dried blood leading from his lips down to his chin, like it'd dribbled from the cut.

"I take a boxing class, remember?" Liam says feebly.

Zayn crawls towards him, feeling more than a little ridiculous. He moves right into Liam's personal space and cups a hand around his bad cheek, fingers deftly brushing over the marks that are already starting to bruise around the edges too lightly to actually hurt. Liam flinches anyways. "You also told me that it's safe and no one ever leaves with any injuries, and yet, here you are. Lip split and bruises on your face."

Liam shrugs, his gaze steady and pointedly meeting Zayn's. "I lied."

"Then, or now?" Zayn challenges.

Liam sighs and brings a hand up to cover Zayn's and guide it back to his cheek. He keeps it there for a moment before dropping it, and his gaze. "Now," he admits.

Zayn shuffles back and tugs off his sweater, and then he pulls the bag he brought with him close enough to get out the bottle of water. "Fortunately for you," he says as he pours a bit of water on to the sleeve (wearing black comes in handy, okay? Less issue with stains) and moves closer to Liam once more, "I'm good at dealing with injuries."

Liam stays completely still as Zayn wipes the blood from his chin, and then gently removes it from his lips, but his eyes are closed. He caps the bottle of water before examining Liam's eye. He's gotten his fair share of black eyes in life, but they don't come as easily as most people assume. Unless it's from a broken nose, it takes a fairly hard hit to blacken an eye. And the swelling that has it puffy is just further proof that, whoever hit Liam, they meant to leave a mark like that. Had to of.

"That's going to be bad tomorrow," Zayn tells him. "Anything else?" There's no verbal answer from Liam, but the way he looks at the floor instead of into Zayn's eyes is answer enough. Zayn brushes a hand through Liam's hair. "Come on, babe."

With a sigh, Liam sits up straight and tugs off his shirt. Underneath, his ribcage is a plethora of greens and purples and reds. This time, Zayn doesn't even lift a hand. He's fairly sure that, no matter how careful he would try to be, any pressure on that would hurt.

"Broken?" Zayn asks.

Liam shakes his head. "Just bruised, I think."

Zayn nods mutely and tries to comfortingly rub circles on Liam's back while thinking because he's got a fairly good guess of what happened, but he doesn't want to presume something and be wrong. His fingers run over bumps, and at first he thinks nothing of it, but then he's reaching for the lamp and pulling it closer so Liam's back it lit up, too. And so are all the angry purple welts. And that's probably his breaking point.

"What the  _fuck_ , Liam?" he demands. "What — how did you even  _get_  these?"

Liam tugs his shirt back on. He glares at Zayn. "Those are old."

"That doesn't answer my question."

Liam moves so he's sitting with his back against the nearest wall and his legs pulled up to his chest. He looks down at his hands until, finally, he says, "The cord to the DVD player was in the middle of the floor a few weeks ago when he was watching a movie. I tripped over it. Didn't break the player, but the disc cracked. The plug-in cord isn't the best make-shift whip, but it works well enough, apparently."

When he fights, it's like a switch flips inside of him. He turns off everything else, and it's just — rage. Anger. A desire to  _hurt_  people. It makes him vibrate with energy and his breath come out in ragged pants. There is a very big difference, in Zayn's mind, between hatred and anger. Right now, as he kneels in front of Liam and puts a hand on his shoulders, he feels both.

Liam pushes his hands away. "Don't make a big deal of it, okay?" he pleads.

Zayn wants to shake him for it. He wants to test just how strong the walls of the tree house are by trying to put his hand through it, because maybe that would stop the shaking. It wouldn't help, though. Punching things isn't going to stop Liam from hunching in on himself. It isn't going to magically heal the cut in his lip or stop the bruises from forming on his face. "I'll kill him," he says because he can't really change what happened, but he can stop it from happening again.

The last thing Zayn expected to come from Liam's mouth at that is  _laughter_. "If I thought it would help, I might have done it myself already," he says. "But it won't. I'd have nowhere to go. Trust me, I've looked at all my options. And it's only a few months until I graduate, and I've got enough saved up to get far, far away from here as soon as I do."

"A few months," Zayn repeats. "And what can he do to you in that time? Fuck, Liam—"

"You're making a big deal of it," Liam says.

"I'm — of  _course_  I am!" Zayn snaps. "Have you looked in a fucking mirror lately? You—"

Liam grabs Zayn's hand and tugs it until it's against Liam's neck. He can feel the pulse there, feel the steady rhythm of it. "See?" Liam asks. "I'm fine. A few bruises isn't going to kill me, Zayn. They'll 's  _not_  a big deal."

It's funny that he can say it like that, with complete and utter conviction, and yet the look in his eyes is a broken one. "Liar."

"Are you always going to call me out on my lies?" Liam's lips twitch up for a moment, but the movement threatens to open the wound again so he stops.

"Are you always going to feel the need to tell them to me?" Zayn counters.

Fingers lace between Zayn's, and Liam gives his hand a squeeze. "What time do I need to drive you back at?" he asks instead of answering.

Zayn sighs heavily, more than a little exasperated, but really, he has no right to know about any of this, does he? He had no right to climb up here when Liam had wanted to be alone. No right to find out this secret of his that he's willing to bet Liam's never told anyone. So he doesn't push it. Not right now. What good would it do?

"Before lunch tomorrow," he answers. "They do attendance at eleven thirty. Until then, no one will have any idea that I'm not there."

"So you're all mine for the whole night," Liam concludes.

"If you want me."

"If  _you_  want to sleep twenty feet above the ground in a tree house, in an old sleeping bag. With me," Liam corrects.

Zayn gets out a cigarette and lights it up. "Sounds fun."

"Now who's lying?" Liam teases.

But really, he wasn't.

—

"We aren't making  _any_  progress, Zayn," Patrick says to him on Monday.

Zayn absently twirls a pen in his hand. Really, it's testing all his patience to be sitting in this room, talking about the same old shit as always.  _"Why are you angry?"_  At least today he can pinpoint the answer to that question, but he doubts saying, "My sort-of-boyfriend's dad beats the shit out of him and he won't let me help," will make him feel better. Plus, it's not like he  _can_  talk about it. It's not his secret to share.

"Maybe I'm not fixable," Zayn finally says. He knows that Patrick won't be satisfied until he says _something_.

That apparently wasn't enough, though. "Who said you were broken?" Patrick asks.

Zayn smiles unpleasantly at him. "I wouldn't be in counselling if someone didn't think that something in me needed to be fixed, now would I?"

Patrick sighs at him. He really likes doing that, Zayn's learned. Zayn sighs right back because he does, too. "We don't want to fix you, Zayn," Patrick says, and Zayn wants to ask who the 'we' is. Him and the school, or him and the school and Zayn's parents, or the world? "We want to help you. Maybe learn to channel that anger into something  _productive_. Or maybe figure out the reason for it and learn how to get rid of it."

"Which would be changing who I am," Zayn says. "Which means that right now, you and the universal 'we' aren't happy with how I am. And you want to fix it."

Another sigh. "You're very difficult, Zayn."

"If I wasn't, I wouldn't be here."

"That is true," Patrick agrees. "And you won't graduate until you let me  _help you_."

"What if there's not a reason?" Zayn asks. "Why does  _everything_ have to have a reason? Not everyone  _does_." He grins. " _Some men just want to watch the world burn_."

"And I do not believe that you are one of them," Patrick says with conviction. "You keep trying to convince me, convince yourself, convince the world that you hate it, and yet you have no reason to. You grew up in a lovely home, with everything you could ever need provided for you. Sure, your father wasn't as big of a figure in your life as you'd of liked, and your mother cares a bit too much about what other people think of her, but they love you, and you love them. You're a rebel without a cause, Zayn, and you're rebelling against even yourself."

Zayn gets out of his chair, tossing his pen to the ground. You know what? You can take your fucking medical degree, and—" he snatches the pencil out of Patrick's hand, stopping him from writing, "— the fucking notes you're writing on my behaviour, and you can shove them up your fucking ass."

He stomps from the room, slamming the door behind himself.

Zayn nearly shouts at Niall to get out of their room when he gets back to it, but then he blinks and he realizes that it's not Niall who's standing with his socked feet on Zayn's bed, examining the shelf above it. No, Niall would still be in his uniform. And Niall's hair isn't buzzed off on the sides. Nor does he ever stretch the shoulders of his shirts in a way that makes Zayn's mouth water.

"Liam. What are you doing here?"

Liam jumps, startled, and he nearly knocks over Zayn's whole shelf. He turns and gives Zayn a sheepish look before dropping off the side of the bed and sitting on the end of it in one smooth movement, bouncing a bit. "Hey."

"Let me repeat," Zayn says as he kicks the door closed. "Liam, what are you doing in my dorm room, in my school, on a Monday afternoon without any warning? And how did you even know where my room is, anyways?" He sounds sufficiently annoyed, despite the fact that he's more than a little pleased. Though the second his eyes zero in on the bruises that now mar Liam's face, that elated feeling dwindles.

Liam grins at him. "That's a secret."

"Harry told you, didn't he?"

"Not a very good secret, obviously."

Zayn shrugs out of his sweater and tosses it onto Niall's bed before joining Liam on his own. "Is there any reason for the visit, or am I just so addictive that you couldn't stay away from me for a second longer?"

Liam chuckles and pushes at Zayn's shoulders until he's laying flat against the bed, and then he's got a lap full of gorgeous boy and, really, answers aren't important anymore. But he still gets them, at least. "Harry might have mentioned that your friend Louis might have mentioned that you might absolutely hate your counselling sessions that you have on Monday. So I thought I'd come cheer you up."

Honestly, Zayn had sort of forgotten about Patrick and his stupid counselling sessions the second he'd met Liam's eyes. (He doesn't really want to think about what that means, so he doesn't.) Now that Liam's reminded him, though, his mood has plummeted once again. "I don't want to talk about it."

"Cool," Liam says. "So don't talk about it."

"You're not going to ask why?" Zayn's brow furrows as he grips Liam's waist, fingers never pressing in. He doesn't mean to treat Liam like he's breakable, but it's hard not to.

"Why would I?" Liam looks genuinely baffled by the question. "I told you; everyone has a right to keep their secrets. If this is yours, then I'm not going to make you tell me, or make you feel guilty for not."

Zayn drops his hands. "It's not a  _secret_. I just don't like to talk about it."

Liam slides off him. "Okay."

"Okay," Zayn repeats, for some reason glaring up at the ceiling. He doesn't know  _why_  he's suddenly angry, he just is. And that's the problem, isn't it? "I get into fights," he says, turning to face Liam. "Enough of them that my parents started to think I was out of control. And then one night I came home, kind of wasted with a busted lip and bloody knuckles, and they decided to send me here. And now everyone's always asking me why I'm so angry, or why I hate everything."

Liam's fingers walk across his stomach, his eyes watching the move instead of meeting Zayn's. "You don't hate everything. I don't think you even hate more things than a normal person. I think that you're just a little more vocal about what you  _do_  hate, and you don't pretend not to hate things just to please other people, like most of us do."

Zayn lets out an incredulous laugh. "Has anyone ever told you that you're kind of a genius?"

"The opposite, actually."

If he thought it would make Liam feel better, he'd tell Liam that he'd happily punch anyone who told him that. Actually, he's fairly inclined to keep Liam behind him and protect him from the entire world. And Zayn doesn't like to help people. In fact, he usually goes out of his way to avoid doing that. But Liam….

If he could save anyone, Zayn would chose to save Liam. But he knows that Liam wouldn't let him.

"How long are you staying?" he asks, because he knows Liam wouldn't be happy if he voiced any of that other stuff, and he's not sure he'd want to admit it out loud anyways.

"As long as you want me," Liam replies.

Zayn traces Liam's eyebrow with and then his lips, not trusting himself to be gentle enough to risk anywhere else. Not with the bruises. "So forever, then."

"Aw," someone coos from outside his bedroom door.

Zayn sits up fast, and Liam leans up, too, as the door opens and Niall walks in, Louis, Harry and Josh in tow. "Seriously?" Zayn demands. "We could have been naked, you know."

Harry laughs. "Not with Liam. I'm convinced that he'll blush so hard he'll die before he ever actually gets it in."

Liam does sort of blush at that, but barely any of that pink spreads across his cheeks. It infuriates Zayn, the fact that he gets purple and yellow bruises instead of it.

"Shit," Louis says softly, jumping onto Zayn's bed without a care for the fact that it's not big enough for two, really, let alone three and Louis' huge ass. "What happened to you, Liam?"

The force with which Liam uses to squeeze Zayn's thighs as everyone takes in his face is more than a little painful, but he endures it. "Boxing lessons," Liam answers. "Got a little rough during sparring the other day."

"No shit," Harry says softly. "I told you to stop taking those lessons after those two broken ribs last year."

Zayn tenses. "Two broken ribs?" he asks tightly.

"I healed. It was fine," Liam promises.

"Fine? You were in the hospital for weeks. Nearly punctured something vital. You—" Liam glares at Harry until he shuts up. "Sorry."

"Can you all get the fuck out?" Zayn snaps at everyone but Liam.

"It's my room," Niall reminds him. "You can't kick me out." Zayn narrows his eyes and makes a low sound from the back of his throat. "Or maybe you can."

Louis doesn't move from the bed. "You too, Ronald McDonald," Zayn hisses.

Louis ignores him and fixes Liam with a curious look that has him fidgeting. "How long have you been friends with Harry?" Louis asks, and he breathes a little easier.

"A long time."

"And what do you know of his love life?" Louis inquires. "Has he had one? _Does_  he have one? Is he straight? Gay? Bisexual? Asexual? Pansexual? Single? In a relationship? In a complicated relationship? In a complicated, polygamist relationship with thirty women? What?"

"Um." Liam looks to Zayn for help, but Zayn raises his hands defensively. "I don't really, um, know? I mean, he's not dated anyone, that I know of. Or really had a crush on anyone, that I know of. But I think he once said that Adam Levine could 'totally get it' or something."

"Adam Levine," Louis repeats slowly, clicking his tongue ring against his teeth. "Nuclear."

Liam and Zayn both groan at that. "Don't use that word," Zayn begs. "Not like that."

Louis grins and pats Liam's head. "Thanks, Li. I'll leave you two to fuck now."

"We're not—"

"Ah, but now that I've said it, you'll both be  _thinking_  about it, and I bet Zayn's already sporting a semi and considering whether or not you'll pull his hair when he deep throats your cock."

" _Louis_ ," Zayn shouts. "Get  _out_."

"As you were," Louis says with a flourish, and then he's out the door in a whirl of burgundy hair and the black of their school's uniform.

Zayn falls back against his pillows and rubs a hand over his face in embarrassment. "Just ignore him," he says to Liam. "Seriously."

"I probably would," Liam says.

Zayn blinks up at him. "Ignore Louis?"

"Pull your hair," he corrects.

It takes longer than it should for the meaning of that to sink in for Zayn, but when it does, the pants of his uniform get a little tighter, and he sucks in a quick breath that is  _not_  a gasp. It's not. "What happened to the blushing boy from the restaurant?" Zayn teases while shifting a bit to adjust himself and hopefully hide the fact that he's sort of got a boner.

Liam gestures to his cheek. "I am blushing, you just can't tell." It's a shit joke, and as soon as he's said it, Liam ducks his head and lets out a self-deprecating laugh. "I just ruined it, didn't I?"

Zayn sits up a bit, leaning over Liam with one arm on either side of him. "I don't think you could ruin anything even if you tried," he says.  _Except me_ , but that's too cheesy to say out loud so he doesn't.

No, Liam doesn't ruin it, but Zayn does (once again, though he thinks back to last time and realizes that the wounds on Liam's back had probably been fresh then, and Zayn had most likely hurt him, and that's why what happened then happened), and he's completely aware of it.

"Can I see your back again?" he asks between almost chaste kisses.

Liam stiffens underneath him (and not in the good way, either) before climbing off Zayn and tugging off his shirt. He lays flat on his stomach, face buried in Zayn's pillows. In the bright light of his room, his back looks worse. There's long, raised lines covering his tanned skin, almost like blisters. They're obviously old, but he's pretty sure there will be scarring.

Carefully, Zayn traces one of them. "Does it hurt?"

After letting out a shuddering breath, Liam says, "Not really. Not anymore."

He counts them. There's exactly nine of them. Some of them aren't as bad, couldn't have come from very hard whips, but other are thick and darker. Zayn's not sure if he wants to cry or scream. He does neither. "Where's your mum?"

"Gone."

"I'm sorry," he says, fingers stilling on Liam's back.

"She's not dead," Liam says quickly. He's quiet as Zayn climbs on top of him, straddling his waist. "She left when I was fourteen. Her and my dad fought for years. Neither of them were happy; hadn't been for a long time. Now she's got a new family. A toddler and a baby. Doesn't call me anymore because my dad used to answer before I ever could. I called her once, though. Asked if I could come live with her."

Zayn glides his fingers of Liam's back, careful to avoid any of the welts. "What'd she say?"

"She said she'd love for me to." Liam's voice is a bit muffled by the pillow, and it's not loud to begin with. Still, Zayn can hear him clearly when he leans down and brushes his lips against Liam's neck. "Except their house was too small. I was in the middle of a semester at school. It just  _wasn't a good time_. Could I wait? Surely it couldn't be that bad with my dad, right? But it was okay for  _her_  to want to run from him "

"Basically she said no without actually saying no." And Zayn hates her, too. This faceless woman who left Liam behind. That should have been  _protecting_  him.

"Basically," Liam admits.

A part of him wishes he'd never asked, but he's a glutton for punishment, apparently. "How long?"

"Since I asked her?" Liam wonders. "Or how long has he been… you know."

"Beating you," Zayn supplies. He blinks down at Liam's back, wondering if he'll look in the mirror years from now and feel the ghost of the pain that he'd felt when he'd gotten these marks. "How long has he been beating you?"

Liam seems to contemplate this for a bit. "Long enough," he eventually says.

"You could run away," Zayn suggests.

Liam shakes his head. "He'd call the police."

"You could  _tell_  the police," Zayn argues.

"And they might not believe me. There's not really any proof. Nothing that couldn't be disproved if he tried hard enough. Or maybe they  _would_  believe me. And then I charge him with assault because I'm not a child anymore, not really. The trial could go on for a long time. It happens. I'd have to testify, and it'd take time, not to mention I'd probably need a lawyer." He sighs. "It's just too much trouble."

Zayn doesn't think it is. He thinks that any amount of trouble would be worth it. "You could—"

"It's not that simple, Zayn," Liam says, losing his patience. He turns over, knocking Zayn off him. "I told you. In a couple months, I'll be gone. Too far away for him to ever look at me again, let alone touch me. Until then, I'll deal with it. I can take it."

"Maybe I can't," Zayn grits out.

Liam sits up straighter. "No one's asking you to," he says coldly. "I never asked for your help. You wouldn't even know if—"

"I hadn't found you," Zayn finishes for him. "Yeah, I get that." He reaches for Liam's hand, but Liam moves it away quickly. "I just can't stand seeing you hurt."

"Yeah, well." Liam gets out of the bed. "You hardly even know me, right? So get over it, Zayn, honestly. It's not your life, and you don't have any right to interfere."

Liam heads for the door, so Zayn stands up, too. "Liam." Liam pauses, but he doesn't turn around. "Don't push me away and walk out."

"Then don't make a big deal of it," Liam says thickly. "I asked you not to. I can't  _handle_  you making a big deal of it. I can't." He finally turns, but Zayn wishes that he hadn't His eyes are brimming with tears, and it feels like someone's blocking the air from getting to Zayn's lungs. "I don't think about it. Ever. And you're  _making_  me think about it, and that's something I  _can't_ handle ."

"I just— I just want to help," Zayn says brokenly.

And fuck, he means it. More than maybe anything he's ever said. But Liam won't  _let_  him help. Liam won't let him do  _anything_ , and that's destroying him inside, it really is. Zayn is a person of action. He doesn't just sit by, not when he  _has_  to do something. And he does have to, because despite what Liam says, he's  _not_  fine. Maybe Zayn doesn't know him all that well (not as well as he'd like to), but he knows Liam enough to know this.

Liam actually has the audacity to look concerned for _Zayn_  at those words, his features softening as he crosses the room in quick, long strides, and climbs into Zayn's lap like he was made to fit there perfectly, and maybe he was. "You help more than you know," Liam says before kissing him almost roughly, teeth nipping at Zayn's bottom lip.

Liam did say he likes to lie, and Zayn has no doubts that this is just another example of that. And he also sort of regrets wanting to know what secrets Liam was hiding.

—

Zayn is sort of addicted. To Liam Payne (he didn't ask anyone for his last name, but he did spend hours on Facebook trying to find Liam until he looked through Harry's friends list and found him), ridiculously enough. It's like — Zayn wakes up to a good morning text from him. Even before his morning cigarette, Liam is at the front of his mind. And then at breakfast he sits with Harry, and (bless his insane soul) he bring Liam into the conversation seamlessly in a way that you can only do when someone is your best friend and they're so woven into your life that they're in every memory and good story that you want to share. And then all through his classes he gets little  _"I miss you — Liam"_ and  _"I hate English class. I bet you love it, huh?"_  texts. Finally, before he goes to bed, Liam sends him a short and sweet  _"Sleep well x — Liam_ " so it's not all that odd that he ends up dreaming of soft lips and tanned skin and brown eyes, now is it?

It's just that — Zayn hasn't dated. And while he'd never admit it to anyone, not even Louis, though he's fairly certain Louis knows anyways because he's creepily intuitive, he's sort of kind of a virgin. Like, technically. He's done  _stuff_  with that hot guy from down the street back home. And then there was Meghan from last summer who had black hair and a tiny nose and the smoothest hands ever (which he mostly only remembers because those hands had felt really good wrapped around his dick), but he's never really had  _sex_. So everything with Liam feels new. Maybe the kissing isn't new. Maybe discreetly jerking off when his roommate isn't in the room while remembering when they were making out on his bed isn't new. But the rest of it? The parts where he feels like he's burning up when Liam's boxing him in with his limbs and kissing his neck, or the part where he anxiously holds his phone in his hand while waiting for Liam to text him back (even if he'd only sent that text two minutes ago), or the part where Harry calls Zayn Liam's boyfriend and his stomach tightens in the best possible way? None of that has happened before.

Part of him thinks that he should get a hold of himself, but the other part? It could care less if he's just giving his heart away to Liam without even trying to stop himself from falling. And falling he is. It's like a steady, long drop to the ground that feels like it's going to end every time Liam sighs his name, or says things like, "One day you're going to be my greatest memory." But it hasn't, not yet. Not completely. It's just a matter of time, though. Inevitable. Zayn's accepted it.

Basically Zayn is acting like a twelve year old girl whose crush just asked her out, and he's weirdly okay with it.

"I'm  _not_ ," Louis says at lunch. They're alone for the first time in a long time. Josh and Niall are in the library and Harry's… somewhere. Zayn doesn't really ask him questions because usually the answers are weird and not helpful at all.

Zayn shrugs and stabs a piece of broccoli with his fork. "Too bad."

"It's not  _fair_ ," Louis whines. "I've been in love with Harry for  _years_ , and I've made zero progress. You've known Liam about a month and you're both sickeningly in love with each other. I hate you."

Swallowing first, Zayn cocks his head to the side and asks, "You think we're in love? Both of us?"

Louis rolls his eyes. "I think Liam gets to see the sides of you that you don't show anyone, and I think that he would worship the ground you walk on, if you asked him to. So yeah. You're both sickening in love. It's ruining my fucking appetite."

Zayn indulges with a soft smile for just a moment until Louis threateningly lifts his fork like he's going to stab Zayn with it. "I still maintain that you'd make progress if you just  _told_  Harry how you feel. Lou, the other day that kid almost walked into a wall. He's oblivious. You could have his dick in your mouth and he probably  _still_  wouldn't realize you like him unless you explicitly told him so."

"I still maintain that you'd look good with your dick ripped off and stapled to your fucking forehead," Louis says happily.

Zayn flings a piece of food at him. "Do you want me to ask Liam to talk to him about it?"

"I'll kill you if you do."

Zayn sighs and wonders why no one ever wants his help.

Halfway through his last class, he gets another message from Liam. This one's a little different than the others, and it leaves him more than a little confused.  _What do you like on your pizza? :D — Liam_

_Anything?_ Zayn sends back, and then he gets a reply of,  _Cool. Stay up past curfew tonight nd ur friends to. —Liam_

"Are you texting in class, Mr. Malik?" He looks up and finds his teacher right in front of his desk, staring down at where Zayn's got his phone hidden in his lap. "Am I mistaken, or are phones no longer banned in this establishment?"

"Um." Zayn licks his lips and looks around, praying for someone to save him. No one does. "It's not a phone," he tries weakly. "It's a, uh, graphic calculator."

His teacher smiles pleasantly. "And what need does one have for a graphing calculator in a  _History_  class?" Zayn blinks at him. "Alright, Zayn, hand it over."

"What are my punishments if I don't?" Zayn inquires.

"Detention until the end of the semester," his teacher supplies. "And since I know that surely won't be enough to scare you, we'll cut your lunch for tutoring and how does writing out five hundred lines of  _I will no longer tell lies to my professors_  sound?"

Zayn hands over his phone, but not before sending Liam ' _okay'_  and locking his phone so no one can access anything but him.

—

"I am about to show you," Harry says quietly, with an air of great of importance surrounding him, "something that only one other person in the entire world knows how to do."

They're standing outside the side door to the gymnasium, Harry directly beside the keypad (which requires a key-card to open, and only staff members have one) with his phone in one hand and a credit-card in the other. He turns the card and, simple as that, sticks it into the keypad and the door opens.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me," Louis says, balking at the open door. "It can't be that easy."'

"Is, though," Harry says with a shrug. "But only this door. The keypad broke a few years ago and it costs a shit load of money to get fixed, so they didn't. Nuclear, right?"

"Nuclear indeed," Louis agrees without any sarcasm or anything in his voice, which is quite the feat, in Zayn's opinion.

"Are we going to go in, or are we just going to stand here?" Josh asks. "I'd rather not get caught, you guys."

Niall ruffles his hair. "'s anyone ever told you that you're adorably nervous?"

Zayn pauses halfway in the door and looks between Josh and Niall for a moment. Niall is — normal Niall. But Josh? Red cheeks, eyebrows lifted high above wide eyes, lips parted ever-so-slightly. Zayn backtracks and slides up beside him as the rest of them filter into the building, and he whispers in Josh's ear, "He changes right in the middle of our room all the time. The words 'well hung' come to mind."

The colour drains for Josh's face as he scurries after the others. Zayn cackles at his back and follows him into the gym. It's not a building he spends all that much time in, to be honest. He stopped taking any sort or fitness related class as soon as it was no longer required (you have to take at least two gym, health or fitness classes to graduate), but he knows the layout well enough. Harry leads them right through the main room without turning on any lights until they're at the bleachers.

"We can't turn the lights on," he explains as he climbs the first couple steps of the bleachers, using the light of his phone to guide him. Zayn can just make out the outline of his figure as he bends down and pulls out — "I keep this here for when Liam sneaks in. It uses batteries, so if you guys are ever going to come in here without me, just remember to bring an extra pack in case it dies," he says before turning on the small, portable lamp. It illuminates barely any of the room but the small corner he places it in.

Louis sits himself down as close to Harry on the bleachers as he can get, while Josh is sitting as close to Niall as he can without looking weird. Zayn sits in front of Louis and Harry, and he absently twists his hands as he watches the door, waiting.

"Do you guys want to hear a story?" Harry asks.

"No," Zayn and Niall both quickly say. Josh politely says sure, and Louis' practically frothing at the mouth for it (not that much of an exaggeration, really).

Harry frowns at Zayn before saying, "Anyways. I was in this, um, restaurant. No, wait, sorry. It was a diner. And um, there was this waitress, right, and she, um—"

Zayn stops listening. He likes Harry, he does, but he's not really interested. Not when he can hear the door that they'd just come through closing, and he can faintly see the shape of Liam's body coming towards them. The pizza boxes come into view next (three of them piled on top of each other), and then the smell of greasy cheese and tomatoes.

"Sorry I'm a bit late," Liam says as he places the food on the seat below Zayn. "There was an accident just outside of town. Road was blocked off for a bit."

"You brought pizza," Niall says dreamily. "You could have been an hour late and no one would have faulted you for it."

"True that," Louis puts in. "Now someone hand me a slice."

There's a lot of mumbling and shared smiles as they break out the food, everyone taking a slice but Liam, who's sitting beside Zayn and anxiously rubbing his hands on his jeans. He's actually shaking when Zayn touches him, and the food in his mouth no longer tastes even remotely edible, let alone delicious and perfect the way it had seconds ago.

"Liam," Zayn says, voice pitched low, "what's wrong?"

Liam kisses him. His lips fall left of Zayn's mouth and he slows down to kiss him properly, wet and sloppy and thorough, until the only taste in Zayn's mouth left is  _Liam_. He gets lost in it while it lasts, but as soon as those lips are gone, the panic sets in again.

"Liam—"

"Nothing's  _wrong_ ," Liam assures him. "We're celebrating."

"Celebrating what?" Harry asks.

"Life," Liam answers. "Good health. Friendship." Everyone snorts. "Okay, fine. I've got an interview for an internship in Manchester just after Christmas. It's for this really great company that makes video games called Fisco, and it's just a desk job or whatever, answering calls and stuff like that, but most people who intern there end up getting an actual job down the line."

"I didn't know you were into that," Zayn admits.

Liam gives him a sheepish smile. "I would have mentioned it, but I've sort of been avoiding thinking about anything even remotely related to gaming design since I sent my resume into them. I didn't want to say something and have it not work out, you know?"

Zayn runs a hand down Liam's thigh. "I'm happy for you."

"When does it start?" Louis asks, interrupting before Zayn can finish crossing the distance between his and Liam's lips. Zayn glares at him for it.

"Well I don't have the internship yet, technically," Liam explains. "I have an interview after Christmas break. But if it all turns out the way I hope it does, it'll start in August. And I have to get into University there, too, or else I won't be able to accept it, but… I'm hopeful."

This time it's Zayn who kisses Liam, because that purely happy look on his face is too infectious not to.

"Come outside for a cigarette with me?" Zayn asks after a couple slices of pizza.

"It's a bit cold," Liam comments when they walk back through the door they'd entered.

Zayn smirks at him. "Is a little cold going to kill you?"

"My nipples are hard and everything!" Liam says indignantly, a playful smile on his face. Somehow Zayn is still very much infatuated with him.

"If you don't want to see one of my favourite places in the whole world…." He trails off, eyebrows raising expectantly.

Liam grabs his hand tightly. "I want to see all your favourite places," he says softly. "Even the ones you haven't discovered yet."

Zayn lights up a cigarette and tugs Liam through the field, trying to stay as out of sight a possible until they're at his bench. The breeze is blowing the leaves, which are already starting to turn orange and brown, and they rustle quietly as he and Liam sit down. "I sleep out here sometimes," Zayn admits. "I sneak out and stay here until morning bell. I like to be under the stars."

Liam nudges him until Zayn moves over, right at the edge of the bench, and then Liam's head is in his lap, facing the sky. "I can see why," he says. He turns his gaze to Zayn and smiles. "Can I ask you something?"

Zayn takes a hall off his cigarette with a shrug. "Sure."

"I remember you mentioning that it pisses you off whenever someone asks you why you get angry all the time," Liam starts, and Zayn bristles a bit. "So I won't." Zayn breathes a little easier. "But I will ask  _what_  you're angry at. Or who. And don't say the world, Zayn. Everyone's mad at the world, but not everyone punches multiple people in the face because of it."

Liam knows him too well already, apparently, because he was just about to say that. Instead, he frowns and smokes for a moment, contemplating that question and whether or not he's going to answer it. But if you're going to answer a personal question, maybe it's best to do it like this; outside, under the stars in the dead of night, with nothing but the person you'd want to share yourself with beside you (or in this case, laying on you).

"I think," Zayn says slowly, "I'm mad at myself the most."

Liam's eyes fall closed as he nods. "Why?"

"Are you trying to be my counsellor, Liam?" Zayn teases, though it comes out a little sharp anyways.

"Just trying to understand you," Liam denies.

Zayn flicks his cigarette away and plays with Liam's hair. "I screw up a lot," Zayn starts. "I always have. Like…" he trails off and lays a hand on Liam's chest. "What's in here never seems to make it's way up here." He taps Liam's temple, and then traces Liam's lips, too. "I love Louis. He's my best friend. I'd die for him, you know? But he doesn't get that because I don't show it. I don't tell him. I act like I don't care. And I do it to my parents, too. They've given me everything, and what do I do? I act like a little shit. I get drunk, I smoke to piss them off, and I know that I disappoint them. I always have, and I wish I didn't because they don't deserve it."

"So yeah. I guess it's myself, most of the time." He pauses, eyebrows scrunching together. "I don't think I've ever said that out loud."

Liam's eyes flicker open and he grins softly. "You should come with me to my boxing classes."

Zayn frowns. "You realize that punching people is what got me here in the first place, right?"

"It wouldn't be like that," Liam says. He sits up, an insistent look on his face. "It'd be good for you, actually. Obviously therapy isn't working, right? I could talk to my instructor, get him to write you a note to the school so you'd be  _allowed_  to do it and everything, and I could pick you up and drop you off after class. You'd like it, I think. It's structured and it really does help with — with everything, for me at least."

Zayn chews his lip. "And you'd be there?"

Liam nods quickly. "It's only once a week, and I'd be there every time."

"Okay," Zayn agrees, though he knows his headmaster would never go for it. Knows that it won't ever happen. But if it  _did_ , it couldn't be all that bad, could it? If Liam's there, Zayn wants to be there. "Sure. We can try." He reaches for Liam's hand. "We can head back now, if you want."

Liam shakes his head and falls back down so he's laying on Zayn again. "Not yet," he says. "I'm enjoying you right now. We'll go back to the others later."

Really, what's there to argue with?

A few minutes later, Liam shifts a bit (which is probably a good thing because Zayn's leg is falling asleep) and gives Zayn an inquiring look, moonlight shining in his eyes. "Can I ask you something else?"

"You can ask me anything."

"I'll remember that later," Liam promises. "Anyways. Your friend Louis, um, does he—? I mean, he's sort of gone for Harry, huh?"

Zayn tries to be surprised, but he's not. Louis is the most obvious person in the entire world. And maybe he should be denying it, but he doesn't really feel all that inclined to lie to Liam. "Stupidly in love with him, yeah."

"That's adorable."

Zayn snorts. "It's really not. I don't think I ever want to be that lost over someone." Even as he's said it, he knows that it doesn't matter what he  _wants_. It's happening anyways.

"I think the best way to fall in love," Liam says softly, "is while holding the hand of someone who is willing to fall with you."

Zayn reaches for Liam's hand and carefully fits their fingers together.

—

Just as Zayn figured they would, the school refuses to allow him to take the class. It's not even unreasonable and he knows it. If one student gets special privileges, everyone will want them. And yet he is still waiting at the fence for Liam to come get him, and he wasn't even the one who suggested the sneaking out this time.

In fact, it was  _Patrick_  of all people. Who would have guessed that that guy would come in handy? But he'd practically shit rainbows when Zayn told him he wanted to take the boxing class. "I think this would be  _wonderful_  for you," he'd said excitedly, and Zayn had just plastered on a smile and nodded. Even with Patrick's enthusiasm and assurance that "This would be  _great_  for Zayn!" his headmaster refused. So Patrick told him that if he had any other way to get to this class, he could make sure that Zayn's absence from dinner and detention wouldn't be noticed.

So basically Patrick told him to sneak out because, "We're not making any progress, but I know that you  _can_  Zayn, and I think this may just be beneficial for everyone involved."

"Are you excited?" Liam asks as they drive.

Zayn shrugs. "Hitting things isn't exactly new to me."

"This will be," Liam promises. "Trust me. You'll like it."

The drive into town never takes long, but it seems to speed by with Liam's hand on his thigh. And then they're pulling up in front of a small store front with curtain covered window. "This is it?" Zayn asks. Liam nods and unbuckles his seatbelt. "It's less Fight Club than I imagined."

He reads the words  _Jem's Boxing_  as he gets out of the car, written in fat black letters over the front door and window. Liam holds the door open for him, and Zayn steps into a cool, spacious room with creamy brown walls and a sleek white front desk, as well as a small waiting area. There's a woman behind the desk, one with white-blonde hair and a ruby red smile.

"Liam," she says pleasantly. "And I'm going to assume this is your friend you were talking about?"

Liam nods. "He's all registered, right?"

The girl shakes her head and pulls out a clipboard with a pen attached to it. "I need you to come sign over here, sweetie," she says to Zayn. He hates being called that by anyone under the age of sixty, especially by a girl who can't be any older than he is. "It's straight forward. We need to know about any allergies, any past surgeries or serious illnesses, and for you to sign a waver that basically says we can't be held accountable for anything that happens to you in your classes. You can take a seat and fill it out over there, and Liam, you can head right in."

"D'you mind if I stay with him?" Liam asks as Zayn grabs the clipboard.

"Sure," the girl says. "Have fun explaining to Jem why you're late, though."

Liam winks at her. "I'm sure he'll understand."

The seat Zayn sinks into is plush and comfortable, and it smells weirdly like campfires and burnt marshmallows. Liam patiently waits beside him as Zayn checks things off, writes things down, scribbles his signature on the bottom of page after page. When he's done, he brings it back up to the blonde girl, who reads it over quickly before holding out her hand. "Your admissions fee. Twenty a session. Three hundred for a six month membership."

Liam comes up behind him, hand going to the small of Zayn's back. "First session's free, if I recall."

The girl blinks slowly and sighs. "Yes, you're right. If I see you here again," she looks down at the clipboard, "Zayn Malik, we'll talk about your admission fees."

"I'll be sure to bring him straight to your desk, Per," Liam promises. He links his fingers with Zayn's. "Come on. We're already ten minutes late, and we still have to change."

Zayn lets Liam lead him through the front room, down a short hallway. "Change?"

The next door they walk through opens up into a small locker room. There's a door against the left wall with the word 'BATHROOM' on it, as well as two sets of lockers. Liam turns the lock on one and says, "I'll let you borrow something of mine. You didn't really think you could box in jeans and a t-shirt, did you?"

Zayn looks down at himself and then back up at Liam, who's holding out a handful of clothes. "I guess I didn't really think at all," Zayn admits. He takes the clothes and goes to say thank you, but Liam suddenly pulls his shirt over his head, and the words die in his throat. And then his hands reach for the belt on his jeans, and Zayn's mind fizzes and pops like a broken electronic. It's his  _thighs_ , all thick and stretching the material of his boxers. The indents of his hip bones. How low those boxers fall, and the trail of hair that follow them, starting at his bellybutton.

"What?" Liam asks. He tugs self-consciously at his boxers, and the flush in his cheeks extends all the way to his chest in a way that makes Zayn want to leave marks of his own on Liam's skin. Only different ones than those that are still faintly scattered about. Pink, red, left in the shape of his mouth and his lips instead of a fist.

Zayn tugs off his own shirt and murmurs, "Nothing." The words are muffled by the shirt over his head, but the flush in his cheeks is hidden so it's worth it.

The shorts Liam passed him are silky and too long. They hang far past his knees, and there's only a small stripe of skin between them and the tops of his socks. The shirt hangs loosely around his shoulders and his arms, but he's not drowning in it. It's probably small on Liam.

Zayn figures he looks ridiculous, but Liam? His shorts hang just right, and the shirt  _he's_  wearing is black and tight. Really, really tight, actually. Almost like it's fitted to his skin, and he looks fucking gorgeous. It's almost offensive.

"Come on," Liam says. "You're going to have fun with this, I guarantee it. Jem's going to love you."

Liam guides him back out into the hallway, and then they're ducking through another door and into a much larger room. The walls in this place must be soundproof because he hadn't heard anything from the locker room, but there's shouts and talking and the sound of skin slapping against whatever material it is that the punching bags are made out of.

This room is lower than the others he'd previously been in. There's three wide steps leading down, and then they're on the same kind of floor that they have in the gym back at school. It looks like hardwood, but it's more waxed, polished. His shoes grip it and squeak when he twists his foot. In the very center of the room, there's a boxing ring, and scattered around it is various people and mats covering the ground and punching bags hanging from the ceiling.

"Liam, you're late."

Liam stands still, with his back straight as a man approaches them. Zayn does the same, stiffening a bit. He's huge. Like, mountainous. Tall and wide with dark eyes and dark skin and blindly white teeth. "Sir," Liam says. "I was helping Zayn with his registration."

"And lending him your clothes," the man says. He fixes Zayn with a narrowed eyed look. "Next time, wear your own clothes. Ones that  _fit_."

Zayn swallows down the snapped reply that almost slips out of his mouth. "Okay."

"Okay,  _sir_ ," the man corrects.

Liam nods at him, and Zayn grudgingly says, "Okay, sir."

"That's better. Now, Liam, you know the drill. Off with Markus for now. I'll come check on you after I've shown this scrawny thing around."

Liam grins. "Yes, sir," he says. He slides his fingers out of Zayn's and whispers, "Have fun." As he's walking away, he turns around and adds, "Be gentle with him, Jem. I like this one."

The man —  _Jem_  — nods and crosses his hands behind his back. "Walk with me, Zayn," he says, but it's not a question. It's an order, and since this guy is built like a brick house, Zayn isn't all that inclined to disobey it. "That's quite the honour, you know."

Zayn looks around the room, taking in the fact that a lot of the people throwing punches aren't male. In fact, a majority of the people in the room are girls. Liam hadn't mentioned that. "What's an honour?"

"Liam," Jem says. "That boy's got a good head on his shoulders and an even better heart in his chest. The fact that he likes you is an honour."

"Oh," Zayn says quietly. "Right."

"Do you know how to fight, Zayn?" Jem asks.

Zayn shrugs. "Vaguely."

"Good, because I won't be teaching you how to."

Zayn pauses midstep. They're halfway around the boxing ring, and Jem keeps walking for a moment before he realizes Zayn isn't. "Isn't that the whole point of this place?" he asks. "Teaching us to fight or whatever?"

Jem laughs, low and thick with amusement. "Look around you. This class is about defence, not offence. Anyone can throw a punch, but do you know who wins the fight?" Zayn frowns, completely lost. "The person who can take one."

"Is that what you're going to teach me?" Zayn asks. "How to get punched?"

Jem laughs again. "No, stupid boy. I'm going to teach you how to know when to strike, and when defend."

"How do you know I can't do that already?" Zayn snaps.

Jem stops in front of a short girl who's throwing quick, sharp punches at a punching bag. It quivers and swings from its chain, but Jem grabs it and she stops immediately. "Sarah, go work with Tyler." The girl nods and hurries off. When she's gone, Jem turns back to Zayn. "Show me what you can do, then."

Zayn's knuckles are red. He's breathless and sweaty, and his hands  _sting_. Jem stands there the whole time, and something about the look on his face says that Zayn should keep going until he's given the signal to stop.

"Feel better?" Jem asks finally.

Zayn lowers his arms and steps back. Sweat drips down his temples, and he has no idea why Liam brought him here. This isn't a boxing class. This is like that stupid movie, the one that they remade with Will Smith's kid, where the teacher talks in riddles and makes him do dumb shit, except he won't be an awesomely trained fighter when he's done here. And Zayn thinks it's really stupid, and it's not teaching him anything. "About what?" Zayn demands. "I punched something for ten minutes. My arms hurt, my hands hurt, you're making my  _head_  hurt. So no, I don't feel better."

Jem cracks a smile. "Exactly."

—

"So?" Liam asks when they're in the car and Zayn's back in his own clothes, only they smell like sweat now because he'd been drenched in it by the time they'd left. "Did you like it?"

And the thing is, he did. Like, a lot. As soon as Jem dropped the Yoda-like bullshit, anyways. Within that short hour and a half, he'd learned why his thumb always hurts after he's cracked someone in the jaw ("You're holding your hand wrong, and you're going to break something if you keep doing it like that," Jem had snapped at him. Twice.), that the reason people always manage to hit him back is because he throws himself into the punch too much, and it leaves him defenceless, and that he's 'too tense'. ("If you're going to just freeze up, you might as well lay on the ground and let them have a go at you.")

Plus, at some point he'd caught Liam going at one of the punching bags, and he'd been wonderfully sweaty, and his calf muscles had been flexed and taught and his  _arms_  — it was a really nice sight, okay? Totally worth twenty quid a session if he gets to stop and watch that whenever he wants.

"I guess," Zayn finally admits. "I learned a lot."

Liam snorts. "That wasn't the point. I didn't bring you there so you could learn to fight better. I brought you there because I thought it would make you  _feel_  better." He takes a hand off the steering wheel to pat Zayn's chest (opposite side of his heart, but he doesn't point that out because he knows that Liam's getting at). "Here, you know? Like, it's calming. Like the yoga classes my mum used to take, except different."

Zayn can see that, actually. See how it could be like that. In fact, he'd felt so exhausted as he changed back into his normal clothes, but he'd felt  _good_. Like, weirdly happy because Jem said he had promise, and Liam smiled at him, and there was something really satisfying about that. "Maybe it did," he admits.

"Yeah?"

Zayn shrugs. "Yeah." He puts a hand on Liam's thigh. "Mind pulling over here?"

They're a few minutes from the break in the fence, but they're just outside of town. "Why?" Liam asks, looking baffled. "You want to walk the rest of the way?"

"No." Zayn smirks at him. "I want to take advantage of the fact that I have another half hour until curfew and it'll only take me ten minutes to get back to the school, which leaves twenty to do whatever I want."

"And what do you want?" Liam asks, but he's always pulling over to the side of the road and shutting the car off.

Zayn leans over the seat divider to kiss him.

—

"You excited to get back home?" Niall asks a few weeks later.

Zayn looks up at him from where he's sitting on his bed. Niall, unlike him, is packing up a few things. There's nothing for Zayn to pack, really. He's got more clothes at home than he does here, and the only things he'd really brought with him were his books. He'll be back in two weeks time. He'll live without them.

"Are you?" Zayn counters with his eyebrows lifted.

Niall laughs. "I'm excited to have a room of my own. I've sort of got this shitty roommate. Can't wait to get away from him."

Zayn throws a pillow at Niall. "You'll miss me. You love me."

"You say Liam's name in your sleep," Niall deadpans. "I don't love you enough to miss that."

Zayn flips him off and goes back to his homework. He figures that by the time his parents show up today, he'll manage to have half of it done, and then he can spend the holidays doing absolutely nothing. "I don't talk in my sleep," he mumbles under his breath.

"No, you definitely do," Niall says after shoving a t-shirt into his bag. " _'Liam. So fit. Your_ arms _, babe. Fuck me.'_ "

Zayn's mouth opens in protests, but then he snaps it shut. That scarily sounds like something he would say. "Huh."

"And then there was the other time, when you just mumbled on about how—"

"Are you teasing Zayn about Liam again?" Louis never fucking knocks on their door, he just  _barges in_. " _Without_  me? Niall! I trusted you, you fucker."

With a groan, Zayn puts away his homework. There's no way he's getting it done now. "What do you want, Louis?"

Louis falls onto Niall's bed. "The ability to suck myself off," he answers. "Harry Styles. Oh, and a dragon."

"Nice," Niall says. Zayn rolls his eyes.

"Right now," Louis continues, "I came to say goodbye. My parents'll be here in, like, half an hour."

"Why so early? Don't they usually wait until the last possible minute to get you so they have to spend less time with you?"

Louis sticks out his tongue. "Normally, yes. But apparently my dad's looking forward to having a nice, long chat with the headmaster."

Zayn frowns. "Why?"

"Because, it turns out," Louis says with a feral glint in his eyes, "that my roommate and I are no longer suitable to share a room. In  _fact_ , for the right price, Burns might just let me chose my own roommate."

Zayn and Niall gape at him. "You're not seriously getting your parents to pay for you to room with Harry," Niall says.

"I seriously am," Louis says happily. "With the promise that I'll apply to my dad's choice of Universities without complaining or any shit like that."

"You're insane," Zayn informs him, as if Louis isn't full aware of this.

"Insanely in love," Louis says. "You should know how  _that_  feels. At least I'm not sneaking out once a week to punch things and make eyes at Liam."

"I do more than make eyes at Liam," Zayn argues. It's true. In fact, Jem loves him. Almost as much as he loves Liam, but Zayn can't really fault him for that. He's worked his way up to sparring already, something that Jem doesn't let anyone do until they've been in the class for at least sixth months. And he loves the class, he really does. He can't remember the last time he got so angry that he couldn't control himself; when all he wanted was to hit something. Especially now that Jem's taught him that hitting things, people, it's a temporary fix. And if there's a real problem, you're not going to solve it with your fists.

There's a knock at the door. Niall gets it, and unlike Louis, Josh waits until then to come in. "Did you guys hear?" he asks as he sits down on the end of Zayn's bed. "After the holidays, we get our sports teams back and you lot are allowed on day trips."

"Seriously?" Louis asks. Josh nods. "Fucking right. I knew it was only so long until Burns would give in."

Josh rolls his eyes. "It's not like any of you learned anything. Zayn sneaks out so often he might as well sleep by that hole in the fence. Louis, you broke into the kitchens only, like, two nights—"

"You were with me!" Louis says indignantly. "You stole a cake!"

"You ate the whole thing," Josh reminds him. Zayn remembers. Louis vomited chocolate icing for ten minutes. It was hilarious. "And then Niall—"

"What did I do?" Niall asks, looking offended.

Josh turns red. "Well, I mean, you, uh. Never mind."

Niall puts him in a headlock for it, and he laughs while Josh squirms and tries to shove him off. "Go on. Say it."

"You've got a bong under your bed and a bag of weed in your sock drawer."

Niall pushes him away, still smiling happily. "Nothing wrong with that. It's all natural."

Zayn looks at the bright grin on Niall's face; the happy, flushed colour in Josh's cheeks, and the amused, caring look in Louis' eyes, and he blurts, "I love you guys."

You could hear a pin drop in the room. Niall's laughter cuts off, Louis' breath catch, and Josh's mouth clacks shut. They all sort of just gape at him. It's unnerving.

"Shit fucking cockbucket," Louis breathes. "Did Zayn just say the 'l' word? About us?"

"I think he did," Niall says quietly.

"You feeling okay, Zayn?" Josh asks. "Maybe you have a fever. Or you've been cutting into Niall's stash."

Zayn stands up and glares at them all. "Fuck you guys," he says. "The  _one time_  that I —"

He falls back onto his bed, tackled by Louis, and then Josh's weight is piled on top of him too, and Niall's, and he can't  _breathe_ , they're all so fucking  _heavy_  (he needs to get smaller friends), but it's sort of nice. Louis kisses his cheek sloppily. "You sappy little shit. I knew it. I  _knew_  it. Deep down you're soft as a fucking marshmallow, aren't you?"

"You love us," Niall adds.

"Not while you're all lying on top of me," Zayn wheezes. "Get  _off_."

Afterwards, once they've all climbed off him, Louis says his goodbyes, and then Josh, and then Niall is out the door and Zayn's following him, waiting outside in the gravel parking lot for a car that he knows won't be familiar because his father never drives the same car for more than a couple months.

Instead he gets one that's so familiar it makes his chest hurt. That smells like cigarettes and too much air freshener, that probably couldn't pass a safety test and is in desperate need of a paint job. "Planning on leaving without saying goodbye?" Liam asks.

Zayn lifts a hand to block the blinding sunlight from his eyes. "I said goodbye on Tuesday."

"That was Tuesday," Liam points out. "Plus, you're standing outside, obviously your parents aren't here yet, and it's freezing."

Zayn pulls open the passenger door and gets in. "You're so persuasive."

"It's the lips."

Zayn leans over to press his own against them. "It definitely is."

Liam pushes him back and reaches behind his seat. A small, wrapped present lands in Zayn's lap, and he frowns down at it until Liam says, "Open it."

Zayn chews the inside of his lip. Liam works three jobs to save up money for University. He's applied for scholarships, but his grades aren't the greatest, he doubts he'll get one, and he knows that he won't get a penny from his father to put him through school. That's why his car is shit and not something much nicer, something that he could surely afford with the money saved up in his bank account. Which is why Zayn doesn't want whatever is in the little box in his lap. Liam works way too fucking hard for his money, and Zayn doesn't want it wasted on him.

But what's done is done, and if he says something stupid, like, "Oh, you shouldn't have, Liam," it'll only make Liam upset. So he unwraps it.

"It's kind of a really shit present," Liam says quickly. "And before you say it, don't worry. It barely cost me anything, I promise. Like, ten quid. Not even. It's second hand, so."

Zayn turns the Zippo lighter around in his fingers. It's made of metal that was probably shiny and silver at one point, but now it's dulled and stained a pinkish grey. There's a 'Z' carved into it, surrounded by swirls and shapes that don't really form anything. "What do you think the 'Z' stands for?"

Liam shrugs. "No idea. "

The lighter feels heavy in his pocket, and the metal is cool against his leg, but he likes it. "Thanks."

"Don't thank me," Liam says. "Give me my present."

Zayn grins at him. "Who said I got you one?"

"You do realize that Harry's shit at keeping secrets, right? And if you ask him what you should buy me, he's going to tell me you're buying me something."

"Well you're going to have to wait," Zayn tells him. "It's in my room still. I wasn't going to give it to you until I got back from the holidays. And now I'm going to have to kick Harry's ass, too, for telling you. I hope you're happy."

Liam's face falls. "I can't have it now?" he pouts.

"Good things come to those who wait," Zayn teases.

Liam frowns out the window. "Is that why I'm stuck here for two weeks while you're hours away?"

Zayn sighs and runs a hand through his hair. If he could, he'd take Liam with him. Actually, he wants to take Liam everywhere he goes, always. It's sort of ridiculous. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Liam says. "Two weeks isn't all that long, you know."

"Feels like it," Zayn grumbles. Liam goes to say something else, but a sleek black car pulls up behind them and Zayn groans out, "Great. They're here."

Liam looks at the car and lets out a whistle. "Damn."

"My dad likes flashy things," Zayn sighs. "I should go." He pauses halfway out the door. "I'd introduce you to them, but I happen to like you, so I'd rather not give you a reason to run away."

"It's fine," Liam assures him. "The whole meeting the parents thing scares the crap out of me anyways."

Zayn scoffs fondly the way he always does when Liam uses some kind of placeholder instead of an actual swear word. "See you in two weeks, babe."

"I'll be waiting."

His mum didn't come to pick him up, and his dad doesn't speak as they drive with Zayn in the backseat despite the fact that the passenger is unoccupied. He pulls out his fully charged iPod, turns on his music and falls asleep.

There's snow on the ground at home. It's not like back at the academy, where you can still see the green underneath the snow. Here, everything is blanketed in white.

"Your mother wants to speak to you as soon as you're inside," his dad warns when he pulls the car into the garage.

Zayn freezes halfway out the door. "Am I in trouble? Should I just sleep out here? Use my coat as a pillow?"

"Smartass," his father mutters fondly. "And you'll have to take that up with her."

A big poker player, his father. There's nothing in his tone or his expression that tells Zayn if he's in trouble or not. That's always put him on edge. With his mum, it's blatantly obvious how she feels. When she's happy, she's sickeningly sweet smiles that warm your heart, and when she's mad, she's red faced and narrowed eyes and so cold it burns.

The moment he walks into the kitchen, he's assaulted with the delicious smell of home coking, thin arms wrapped around his waist, and a soft smile from his mum. "Are you cooking?" he asks. "Should I call the fire department?"

Her face twists into one of annoyance that is so totally put on. "Your dad made it, actually. I'm just in charge of stirring and making sure it doesn't burn."

"And you're not doing a very good job," his dad says, moving in behind her.

His mum puts down the wooden spoon and gestures at the table. "Sit. And Saf, I thought you were watching something on TV?"

"But mum—"

" _Now_ , Safaa." Zayn watches her go and sits down, and suddenly that warm smile he'd gotten when he walked in twists in his memory and he realizes he gauged it wrong when his mum says, "I've been talking to your teachers. Your counsellor, Patrick, too."

Zayn sits straighter. "And?"

"We're very proud of you," his father says, catching him off guard.

"So proud," his mother adds, reaching for his hand on the table. "Patrick say you've been making so much progress in your sessions, and your grades have improved. And aside from one incident that apparently half the school was involved in, you've stayed out of trouble."

Zayn looks between the two of them. "You're not fucking with me, are you?"

"Language, Zayn," his mother warns. "But no, we're not 'fucking' with you." She grins. "I always knew you could be good if you wanted to."

"So I'm not in trouble?" Zayn asks slowly. His mum actually laughs, and his father shakes his head as he stirs the food in the pot in front of him. "Huh. I don't think this has ever happened before."

"You'll get used to it, if you keep this up," his mum promises.

He thinks he can.

—

The holidays pass in a pleasant blur, for once. He's not grounded, or getting snapped at every ten minutes for something he'd done weeks ago while he wasn't even there. His sisters annoy him as much as they amuse him. His room is too quiet at night without Niall's snoring, but there's no one there to make fun of him when he stays up talking on the phone with Liam. There's gifts, but he's past the age where there's toys under the tree, and instead he gets mostly money and some clothes. And then he's saying goodbye to his sisters and getting back into that black car and heading back to school.

It's kind of weird, the fact that he feels like he's  _visiting_  when he's at his house. That he feels like he's going home when they drive up that long driveway towards the academy. And for the first time, he realizes that it's going to end in a few months. That he won't be going back next summer. It makes him feel weirdly upset.

His room isn't empty when he gets upstairs. Neither is his bed. Louis is laying in it, Harry's on the floor, spread eagled like he'd collapsed there, and Josh is perching on the end of Niall's with Niall's feet in his lap. They all look up at him when he enters, and then there's squealing (he's pretty sure it's from Harry, but maybe Niall smuggled in a pig) and too many people are touching him.

"Missed you, fucker," Louis says happily. "The rest of the world doesn't get my sarcasm and hatred like you do."

Zayn shoves him away, but he ruffles Louis' hair after (which earns him a glare, but Louis smiles through it) before jumping onto his bed after nearly stepping on Harry, who's still on the floor. "What are you doing down there?" he adds.

Instead of an answer, Harry asks, "Do you ever wonder why our butts aren't flat? Like, we sit on them all the time. They should be flat, but instead they're sort of round."

"Have you  _looked_  at Zayn's ass?" Louis asks him. "Wait, don't answer that. Not that there's anything to look at, really."

Zayn punches his shoulder. "Give me your phone."

"So you can text Liam? No fucking way. I missed you. You can text Liam later." Grudgingly, Zayn agrees. Until dinner, when Josh hands him his phone and he texts Liam to let him know that he's back, and in response he gets  _See you Friday then? :D I have to work until six but afterwards?— Liam_

"I think it's nice, you know," Josh says afterwards. "How much you care about him, I mean."

Zayn makes a face. "Shut up. I don't want people to hear you and know I have feelings." He bumps their shoulders together. "But what about you and a certain blonde Irishman?" He doesn't talk too loud, knowing Niall's only on the other side of the table, and he might be engaged in a conversation with Harry, but it looks like Harry's telling another story so he doubts Niall's really listening.

Josh grins, shrugs, says, "What about him?"

"You try telling him how you feel?"

Josh laughs. "Uh, yeah. I mean, we've kind of been dating for like three months, so I think he knows."

"Wait, what?"

"Since September seventeenth," Niall says from the other side of the table.

"You remember the date?" Josh asks softly.

Niall lifts his shoulder. "Course."

"The date of what?" Louis asks. "What am I missing?"

"The day we started dating," Josh explains.

Louis and Zayn exchange a look. There's no way. He remembers seeing that pining look in Josh's eyes that day outside the gym. Or— was it? "No. Fucking. Way," Louis says.

"You're lying," Zayn adds. "There's — that's impossible. We would have noticed. You would have mentioned it. Is this a joke?"

"Not everyone's got to rent a blimp every time they get in a relationship to announce it to the world," Niall says with a mouth full of food.

"But," Harry looks as lost as he feels. "I thought Louis and Josh have been dating since first year."

"We are  _definitely_  fucking not," Louis says, looking scandalized. "Why would you even think that?"

Josh says, "Rude."

"I'm so confused," Zayn moans.

Harry raises a hand, gesturing for everyone to be quiet. "Okay. So Zayn is with Liam. Niall and Josh have secretly ("It wasn't a secret," Niall denies.) been dating for months. And you're single?" he asks Louis.

"Super single," Louis says quickly. "I am the singlest fucking person ever. Single pringle. The lone wolf, they call m—"

Harry shuts him up with a kiss. Zayn's mouth falls open, but no on is as surprised as Louis, who's eyes practically bug out of his head. "I've been in love with you since we did Romeo and Juliet in our English class three years ago," Harry breathes afterwards. "But you intimidated the shit out of me so I never did anything about it, and then when we started hanging out, I thought you were taken, so I tried to act like I didn't feel that way."

"Seriously?" Louis asks. " _FUCKING SERIOUSLY?_ " He grabs at Harry's curls and kisses him again.

They stay like that until a teacher breaks them up, but then they sneak off to their room (Zayn is thanking the gods that he and Louis never managed to convince their headmaster to let them room together) and leave the rest of them behind.

"Huh," Josh says, breaking the silence. Zayn just rubs a hand over his face. Life is so fucking weird.

—

Zayn gets onto the bus on Friday for the daytrip with a little box in his pocket. There's nothing heavy in it. Just a small slip of paper that's worth a good amount of money. More than Liam's gift to him, but he doesn't care. And he doesn't care when Louis teases him about it, not that he has any right to, given the way he's practically sitting on Harry's lap and wearing that shit eating grin he's had for  _days_  that will likely never go away.

He walks into the restaurant with a happy smile on his face, too. One that slips away when he looks around and doesn't see Liam weaving through the sea of tables, and instead he gets Cher coming towards him, brow puckered. "Where's Liam?" he asks.

"That's what  _I'm_  wondering," she says to him. "He was supposed to be here hours ago. I thought maybe…."

"I was supposed to meet him here," Zayn says, confused. The other aren't with him. Niall and Josh are off doing something, and Louis are Harry are at the record store. "He said he was working."

"And he  _should_  be," Cher says slowly, worry in her brown eyes. "He never misses a shift. And if he did, he wouldn't without calling, but I've been trying him for hours and he's not answering his phone."

Zayn's stomach twists. "Maybe he called someone else you guys work with? Maybe he—"

"He didn't," Cher says firmly. She bites her lip and winces. "Do you know where he lives?" Zayn nods. "You should go check on him. I was going to as soon as my shift ends." She pauses, looking around quickly. "He thinks I don't notice, but I do. He walks in here with bruises or cringes every time he moves a certain way, and he thinks no one sees, but I—" she cuts herself off.

"I'll go check his house," Zayn promises her.

"Take care of him, okay?" Cher asks of him. "He deserves someone who does."

Zayn doesn't answer because he can't. What's he going to say? Sure? He can't promise that. Not when Liam doesn't want his help, won't let him interfere.

He considers searching for one of the boys and borrowing their phones to text or call Liam himself (because maybe he'll answer Zayn, not Cher), but instead he jogs to Liam's house. He's so out of shape it's ridiculous, and his chest is burning but, really, only half of that can be blamed on the exertion. The other half is— is Liam. It's always Liam, isn't it? Since he met the damn guy, he's crawled under Zayn's skin like he was made to fit there and the only way to get him out would cause Zayn serious harm.

Liam's car isn't in the driveway. Liam isn't in the tree house. He finds Liam's car at the end of the street, where it always is, but Liam's not in it. Or so he thinks. He's just not in the front seat.

No, Liam's sprawled out in the back, eyes closed, and for a second Zayn really thinks he's dead. It's like this moment where the world stops spinning briefly, where everything else stops existing and his entire being cracks into little pieces, scattered all over the cement. And then Liam's chest lifts and falls with difficulty, and somehow those pieces come back together and he's tugging open the back door and scrambling to touch while being careful not to touch anything that will hurt him.

Which is really fucking hard, actually. The short hair on the top of Liam's head is bloody and matted. His lips are puffy and there's blood — there's a lot of blood. From his mouth, the gash on his eyebrows, staining the knees of his jeans. Zayn is ready to stomp down the street and push into Liam's house and kill the man, he really is. Fuck, he is. But Liam's blinking open his eyes, and he lets out a quiet, broken, "Couldn't climb the ladders of the tree house. Thought you'd find me eventually."

Zayn's shaking hands hover over him, and he doesn't know what to do. He can't touch, he can't help, he can't do anything. He's so fucking worthless, in that moment, that he wants to tug his own hair out. "Where are you keys, babe?" he asks.

"Pocket," Liam grits out, and he winces from whatever wound, take your fucking pick, they're covering his whole fucking body.

Zayn gently digs them out, and his phone, too. He searches for Harry's number and calls him while getting in the driver's seat, and it takes too many rings for Harry to pick up with a happy, "Hey, Li. You with Zayn yet?"

"Don't," Liam croaks from the backseat. "Don't tell him, Zayn. Please."

"Hello?" Harry asks. "Liam? Are you there? Did you butt dial me? Louis, Liam's ass is so talented that—"

Zayn hangs up on him. He tosses the phone onto the passenger seat and stares out the window, hands curling around the steering wheel. "I don't know what to do," he admits. "I don't know how to help you right now. I can't— I don't…."

He cuts off and shoves the keys in the ignition. He's careful to drive slow as he pulls away from the curb, since Liam doesn't have a seatbelt, but he ignores the inquiry from the backseat as the drives. When he pulls up in front of the studio, he tells Liam to stay put (not that he thinks Liam's all the capable of moving on his own right now anyways0 and then he jogs inside.

Jem is quiet and solemn as Zayn talks, nodding along slowly. He comes out to the car, and with Zayn's help they get Liam into the building, despite the fact that Liam's protesting and Jem could probably throw him over his shoulder and carry him himself.

They're led down a different hallway than the one they usually take. "This is my office," Jem explains, gesturing around the small room with a desk, a shit load of paper, and a collection of family photos that Zayn doesn't look too closely at because he feels like he's intruding. "There's a bathroom through there. You'll find medical supplies under the sink. No one will bother you until you leave this room, but afterwards I want an explanation, understood?"

Liam's got his head duck, but he mutters a quiet, "Understood, sir."

Jem nods mutely at Zayn, and while Zayn might not fully understand what he's trying to say with his eyes, he nods back anyways. Liam's arm is heavy on his shoulder, and he leans on Zayn the whole way into the bathroom. If it weren't for the rigorous working out he's been doing lately, he'd probably collapse. As it is, he's only uncomfortable.

The bathroom is small. It's got a single sink, a single mirror above it, and a toilet. Zayn places Liam on the closed lid of the toilet, and then he pulls open the cupboard under the sink. There's extra toilet paper rolls, cleaning supplies, and a small first aid kid. He pulls it out and opens it on the sink, taking inventory. There's not all the much. Bandages, Band-Aids, rubbing alcohol wipes, a sowing kit (Zayn's stomach churns) and a few cotton swap with some kind of tube of bacteria fighting disinfectant cream.

"Just warn me if I touch something that hurts, okay?" he asks as he kneels on the floor in front of Liam's slumped figure.

"Everything hurts."

Zayn winces and nods before carefully untying Liam's shoes and slipping them off his feet. He slides off Liam's socks, next, and then he gestures for Liam to stand up, keeping a hand around Liam's waist when he does to keep him upright. Slowly, worried about hurting something, he pulls up Liam's shirt. Liam's arms lift just high enough for him to get it off, and Zayn bites his tongue to stay quiet because Liam's ribs are red but not bruised. Not  _yet_.

"Jeans next," Zayn says with almost no emotion. The first time he undresses Liam  _would_ be when he's hurt, but Zayn doesn't mind.

His fingers deftly undo the button first, and then he tugs down the zipper and starts pulling them down, but Liam lets out a hiss of pain and grips his shoulder with fingertips that feel like they want to break into his skin. "Hurts," Liam gasps out. "I think the blood dried my jeans to the cuts."

"They've got to come off," Zayn coaxes. "You—"

"I know." Liam takes a deep breath and nods. "I know. It's fine. I trust you. Just do it quickly, okay?"

He tastes blood by the time the jeans are off. He bites his cheek, his tongue, the palm of his hand because Liam's eyes are wet and he's looking up at the ceiling and breathing heavily, trying not to make any noise but he's  _shaking_  and Zayn reopens the cuts on his knees while getting them off, and he hates it. Hates that he's the one hurting Liam now because that's the farthest thing from what he wants.

"Sit back down, babe," Zayn says flatly. It's easier to sound unaffected than it is to admit to how he feels. How he feels isn't going to make Liam feel any better. It'll only make it worse.

Zayn grabs a hand towel out from under the sink and wets it with lukewarm water and starts wiping Liam off. He starts with his face, carefully removing the dried blood, trying to get Liam's features to come back into focus but they're still obscured by the fat lip and the cuts. "You talk while I work, okay?" he bargains as he cleans the towel and starts again.

Liam takes a shaky breath as Zayn starts wiping the dried blood that's staining his knees. "He wants me to come work with him at the car shop when I graduate," Liam says bitterly. "He, uh, doesn't want me to go off to University, never has. That's why I save up for myself without telling him. He won't let me  _leave_  the way my mother left him, or something, and uh, the people for my internship called the house phone. I don't know how they got that number. I left my cellphone with them, I'd never leave the house one. But they called, left a message about my meeting, and he lost it."

Liam's knees are raw and bloody. "And how'd this happen?"

"I, uh, tripped down the back steps," Liam answers.

"You tripped." Zayn arches an eyebrow.

"I tripped," Liam repeats. "After he pushed me." He's shuddering now as Zayn wipes over the wounds with the alcohol wipes. "Stings. That stings, Zayn. But, um. He kept yelling at me, kept telling me that I was — worthless and what was the point of trying to make something of myself when the world doesn't want me?  _He_  doesn't want me, but he's apparently wasted so much time and money on me over the years that he thinks I  _owe_  him. I— I hate him  _so much it burns_."

Zayn stands up and fits himself between Liam's legs, careful of the cuts. He leans down, their foreheads touching, and Liam's arms go around him, so tight it almost hurts. His fingers curl and uncurl against Zayn's back, and he's crying. He can feel it in the way Liam shakes, and the wet tears that press against his shoulder when Liam ducks his head. And Liam's letting out broken, gasping sobs between, "I just don't know why. I don't get it.  _Why_? What did I ever do?"

Zayn gently pulls back and caresses his face. "I just wish you'd let me save you."

Liam's eyes close. "You can't save people. They can only save themselves."

"So let me help you save yourself, then," Zayn pushes. "Please, Liam."

"Okay." Liam blinks at him. "That'd be okay, maybe."

Zayn kisses his forehead and finishes cleaning Liam up. When he's done, Liam smiles weakly at him. "Can I have my present now?'

Zayn laughs and presses fluttering little kisses wherever he can, like the back of Liam's hand, and his shoulder, and his chest, and his temple, and just below his ears because Liam always shivers and goosebumps break out on his skin. "You can have whatever you want." He takes the box out of his pocket and hands it to Liam, who quickly unwraps it.

" _This coupon is redeemable for one medium-sized tattoo of the recipients choosing._ " He looks at Zayn in aw. "Really?"

Zayn shrugs. "Seen you admiring mine. Figured you might like one for yourself. If not, we can get you something else."

Liam shakes his head. "No, I want it. Will… will you come with me?"

"Where ever you want me to."

Zayn cleans up the mess they've made and finishing bandaging Liam up before helping him back into his clothes (not the ones he was wearing but ones he'd retrieved from Liam's locker) and out the door. Jem isn't waiting in the office for them, but he's waiting at the receptionist desk. The blonde girl who had been there when they walked in is gone, and he looks up at them and waves them over.

"Sit down, Liam," Jem orders.

"Yes, sir."

"Don't call me sir," Jem says. "I want you to tell me what happened. The truth, Liam, not a lie. There are times for secrets, and times for lies, and there is a time to ask for help."

"I don't need—"

"Asking for help doesn't make you weak," Jem says sharply. "It doesn't make you a burden. If people are willing, offering to help, and you need it but do not accept, you're not being noble. You're being stupid, and you are  _not_  stupid."

Liam nods in understanding. He grips Zayn's hand as he talks, and Jem's face stays impassive except for slight twitches that Zayn recognizes too well. He does that, too. Pretends like he doesn't care, but he can recognize the signs, knows that Jem  _does_. And he's glad he came here. He didn't know what to do, and maybe Liam hadn't wanted him to, but he'd been taught his whole life that if someone's hurting someone and you can't do something to stop it, you tell a trusted adult, right? He's still just a kid, he can't fix everything himself.

"Do you have somewhere else you could stay?" Jem asks after Liam's finished.

"He wouldn't—"

"I didn't ask if he would let you, Liam. You're an adult. You have a right to decide where you want to live, and there's nothing he can do about it."

Liam chews his lip. "Harry's parents, maybe," he admits. "They've always been really nice to me, and I don't think they'd say no, but… I mean, all my stuff's there. Everything. He won't just let me walk in and get it."

Jem smiles, something too sharp to be anywhere near  _pleasant_. "We'll get you your stuff, Liam, if I have to go get it for you. Do you know how many men refuse me things? The answer to that question is very, very few. Now, you go call that friend and secure a place to stay, and tomorrow—"

"Tomorrow he'll do that," Zayn says quickly. "Tonight he's coming home with me. And he can talk to Harry there."

Jem looks to Liam. "Is that what you want?"

Liam nods slowly. "Yeah."

—

Harry helps him get Liam inside the building, and then he shucks Niall off to Josh's room for the night. He's got two beds in there, the room is  _technically_  designed for two people, so he can't see any reason why it'll be an issue. Plus, they'll probably — nope, he's not thinking about that. Gross.

Harry doesn't ask about the state Liam's in, or why he needs help getting into the school. Instead he hugs Liam tightly and says, "You'll tell me when you can." Zayn gives them a bit of time alone, and when they come back there are tear tracks on both their cheeks, and Harry looks as furious and protective as Zayn feels.

Zayn refuses to sleep in bed with Liam. There's just too many opportunities for him to accidentally hurt Liam in the night, and he can't do that. Grudgingly, Liam agrees to sleeping in Niall's bed, but somehow they end up with Liam on  _his_  bed and Zayn on the floor between the two, gripping Liam's hand at an uncomfortable angle.

Just before they go to bed, Liam leans over and whispers, "Are you awake?"

"No."

"I'm not in love you," Liam says softly.

Zayn blinks away the sleep fog and gapes up at him.

"This is when you're supposed to call me out on it," Liam says with a smile. "Thought you could always see through my lies."

"I don't believe in love," Zayn says back.

Liam's smile turns into a smirk. "And you said you were good at lying. That was a pretty good lie itself."

The next day Liam sneaks out early, and it makes Zayn sick with worry until Harry rubs his shoulder in Math and explains that Liam's at his house with his parents, who don't know the whole story, exactly, but they've always had a soft spot for Liam (really, who doesn't?) and they'd love to have him there, even if it's just until graduation, as Liam assured them many times it would be.

They miss the next two weeks of class. Zayn refuses to go without Liam, and Jem refuses to let Liam do more than watch when he's still hurt.

Weeks pass. He sees Liam as often as he can, and the days get warmer, and it stops. Zayn stops having to take inventory of where he's hurt every time they meet. He can stop worrying about pressing his fingertips too hard against Liam's skin (though he doubts he'll ever really be able to) or clings too tightly to him.

They go get the tattoo not long after. Liam doesn't explain it, but he likes the arrows, and he holds Liam's hand through the whole thing. Afterwards, he sneaks Liam back to his room and pushes him gently down onto the bed until Liam's pouting and whining, "It stings, Zayn. It hurts so much I think I'm going to  _die_."

"You're being dramatic," Zayn says as he peppers kisses along Liam's jaw.

"'m not," Liam gasps. "Oh, God, the  _pain_."

Zayn pushes up Liam's shirt until it's gone, unimportant, tossed away. He kisses down Liam's chest, eyes raised to gauge every moment Liam makes, to make sure it's okay. "Still hurt?" he asks as he trails a finger down the bulge in Liam's jeans.

"Lots," Liam responds.

Zayn rolls his eyes and undoes his jeans. Liam lifts his hips to shuck them off, and Zayn mouths at him through his boxers. They haven't really gone all that far, not really. There's always someone around, like Niall or Louis, but they're both out today, in the field playing with a few other guys while Harry watches (he's not actually allowed on the field, unofficially, the clumsy weirdo) and the door is locked. "Still hurt?"

Liam moans. "So badly, Zayn."

Tugging the boxers down has Liam letting out a hiss that actually does sound pained, but it turns into a drawn out groan when Zayn wraps a hand around him. Liam's sitting up, leaning on his palms when Zayn leans down, teasingly licks at the head until Liam's hands are fisting in the sheet and his eyes are begging. "Tell me," he urges, and Liam nods.

"Just— do it, please, Zayn, come on," Liam pleads. That pretty flush is in his cheeks, his lips are red and swollen from his teeth, nothing more. He fists a hand in Zayn's hair and tries to push him down a bit, nothing forceful, just guidance, and Zayn goes with it, opens his mouth wide and pliant in a way that makes his name tumble from Liam's lips when he pushes into Zayn's mouth.

Zayn pulls off him a moment later, and Liam's literally gasping for air and shaking his head in protestation. "Nonono, please Zayn."

"Can we do something else?" Zayn asks. Liam looks confused, but Zayn leans in, captures his lips and whispers against them, "Want to watch you touch yourself. Please?"

Where Zayn is so gentle with him, Liam is the opposite. He grabs Zayn's hips and flips him over, and then he's undoing Zayn's jeans like he's done it a million times, and Zayn isn't fighting him on it. Liam kisses him and palms at him through his boxers, and he says, "You too. Only if you do, too."

Later he'll know what it's like to be taken apart by Liam's mouth, or to know what it feels like to have Liam inside him, but for now he's content with this. With Liam straddling him, those fucking obscene thighs of his tight on both sides of Zayn, his body curving over Zayn's, his eyes trained on Zayn's as he hesitantly fists himself. Zayn does the same, taking in the curve of his arms, that blush in his cheeks and the way his lips open and close and they silently form Zayn's name and sometimes not so silently.

Eventually the need to touch gets to be too much though, and he stops fucking up into his own fists and pulls Liam against him, grinding up until they're rubbing together just right and Liam's moaning, "Yeah. Yeah, Zayn. Like this."

The word debauched was made for Liam Payne. He can act all innocent, blink those wide brown eyes at you, but when he comes he's the most sinful thing Zayn's ever seen. And he keeps stuttering his hips, come sticky and wet on Zayn's stomach, and his cock, and Liam's too. He's got to be oversensitive, but Zayn's trying not to scratch at his back and struggling to breathe and Liam gets that, gives him this until he's tensing up, freezing and it's not stars or fireworks that he sees on the back of his eyelids, it's Liam but he thinks they're pretty similar anyways.

"Feel better now?" Zayn asks when he's come down from the high that is Liam's touch.

"I don't know," Liam says slowly. "I think it might start hurting again in a few minutes."

—

"So," Patrick says during their last meeting of the year, "I recall the beginning of this year when you were fighting a civil war with yourself. And now—"

"The troops have laid down their arms?" Zayn supplies, lips twisted sarcastically.

Patrick sighs and takes off his classes. "You're still a smart-mouthed little shit, and I can say that now because I'm not your counsellor anymore, but yes, for all intensive purposes." He grins. "We all knew you had it in you, Zayn. You just needed the right guidance."

"You can't save people," Zayn says, smile getting less twists. "They can only save themselves."

"Right you are," Patrick agrees. "Right you are. Any last thing you want to get off your chest before we finish here?"

Zayn chews his lip and looks up. "Do you seriously not notice the pencil in your ceiling?"

"I put that there myself," Patrick tells him.

Zayn frowns. "Why?"

"To give you something to look at when you're dozing off in here. Now on you go, Zayn. Enjoy your last day."

Zayn grins at him. "You, too. And, uh, thanks."

"For what?" Patrick asks.

Zayn shrugs. "Helping me help myself."

And with that, he's out.

—

Louis refuses to leave in anything but his uniform on the last day, and the rest of them are wearing theirs, too, in solidarity, even if it's too hot with the summer sun shining down on them. Josh's parents come first, and he's all tears and "I love you guys! Call me, okay?" and then Niall, who doesn't cry but does give Zayn one seriously tight bro-hug with a fist pounding on his back. Harry's parents come next, and he and Louis embrace like they'll never see each other again (like they didn't specifically decide to go to the same university just to be together) and then it's just Louis and Zayn, until Louis' parents get there, too.

"Call me every day," Louis orders. "No exceptions. And I want a visit at least once a week, do you hear me Malik? I need you too fucking much."

Zayn sighs heavily. "I  _guess_  I can do that."

Louis hugs him and kisses his cheek. "Take care of our Liam for me."

When Liam became 'there' Liam, he doesn't know, but he's pretty sure that every person Liam come in contact with wants to keep him safe. You don't even have to know him, know anything about him, and he's just the type of person that makes you _care,_ even if you normally wouldn't. "I always do," Zayn promises.

"Alright. I'm not going to fucking cry, okay? Fuck. I just—" Louis cries, Zayn cries, too, but discreetly, pretending like he's not. Afterwards, Louis gets in the car and waves, and Zayn's left standing there with two bags at his feet and a cigarette tucked above his ear.

Finally his car gets there, too, and he tosses his things in the backseat (along with a pile of Liam's) before he gets in. "Are you sure about this?" Liam asks.

Zayn gives him an exasperated look. "I told you—"

"You want to take me everywhere you go, yeah, I know. I was just making sure you weren't having any last minute doubt," Liam says quickly.

"I don't doubt this at all," Zayn promises.

"Me neither." There's silence for a bit, nothing but the sound of the car going down the gravel driveway, and then the sound of wind whipping past on the highway. "Remember in that tree house? When we shared what we hated with each other?" Liam asks. "Can we do that now? Only — only what we love, instead?"

Zayn smiles and indulgent smile and starts with, "Cookie dough ice cream," and ends with "Everything about you."

 

**Author's Note:**

> So yeah idk. I had a lot of issues with parts of this fic but overall i think i'm happy with it, but i'm not really sure if you guys are going to feel the same, so i sincerely hope that about two hours of your time wasn't just wasted. <3 -- C


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